



' V 0 0 a o s * y 

r *j^> ' ^ % " 8 1 ' V s "> ,J N 0 

jfc % / iMjjhl ^ ^ 

, * A ^ s s \G^ <* y o * x * A 

A\ o N C „ 7 * * _S „ V * » /, <> a\ o N ’ 

A xx C " A C> ^ 0 V * * * . <r. \\> c 

4 «» + ^CVv ^ <-> Cj V v ^sysyi^ 1 *f> t o * 

^ ^ ; £m^ - ++ > ° ^ 



<* ° 0 * 

J v,. *, fSiS*V = \° O, 

o - ,y v^^V.o o 

^ * 0 I ' * s , * , <*>. *os°\f° 

^ V s s f ,, s 0 * v * « / C‘ 

x ts&Pn*. * . ,a» v s> & « •?=> 

v %y *yic’v= • 


^ * 8 . A * ^ 

>, - ^ V, * 

I’, */ ; 


r a -a' ^ 

', ' - ' \ » eQ 

Nt = X°0. rt?*S 

^.' 0 ' o*^ 


C^IW. 

pi 


cv ^ 

0 „ •y 









- - ...>“ 
c£* v . . * ^.0 o /- 

^ ° N 0 ^ 0 v ^ * • I ' * ' 

*t S .<^ V «L Y * 0 /- C‘ v 

* 'p 

i°, **<* -■ 



• -.it/ ^ C k ) ' <*+’ -J 

r> y v C> " t)- ^ £> 

s' ^ < 'o.y' 

^°' v-y *, % 4 

v *. .£ //,-^> ^ -fy. y 

« 4 - 7 * * * 

s • 0 ?- 'rP- s %.; | 1 y-<' 1 ° 

> ' x # s 

,\ ^ » « , , 5 N 0 . •> * 

<v 







^ sr 

+* V - 
^ „ 



V 1 B 


u * \ 




A \ c 0 ^ c r, 

% ^ *>■ 

f „ ^ V* ° 

<1 


.0 o 



0 4 ’-/■ 

& f ^<- %ir ; ^ >~ ' * 

> v < ' * ' y> * • - y - ’ * • "V 

<*' <\> * 0 ^ <1^ -V f>(\ /)o ’ *\V 

^ ^ * Mem - v « ° * «v 






s 






$ % 
x? <$' 



,4> ’ C 0 N C * 
o + 


vO O. 

\ XT. 


<* rv o ^ \ 

> 5 *° </■ ,<••,.% ‘’ ,i * ' 

> </> 


' 0 * X * 


^ £ 


V> <\ 

,,,. » .^'V -„ 

.A „ •?,, "< ..s' A u . ,, 

^ .c 0 ”'*, r P'>-'^,\ 

^ O r V NK ’>^ J <* 

U « A * \ V , n * „ V >-. V 0 M 0 























* 



£ert^ 




MINISTERING CHILDREN : 


$ Storjr 

SHOWING HOW EVEN A CHILD MAY BE AS A 
MINISTERING ANGEL OF LOVE TO THE 
POOR AND SORROWFUL. 

/ 

■V- 

7 


“ Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and 
whether it be right.” — Proverbs xx, 11. 

“ Doctrines are the pillars of a discourse. Illustrations are the windows 
that let in the light.” 


REVISED, AND SLIGHTLY ABRIDGED, FROM THE TWENTY-NINTH 
LONDON EDITION. 


* 


ELEVENTH THOUSAND. 

I / • ... 

* »*, 

i^ork : 

PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & POUTER, 

SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 200 M U LB E RR Y - 8TR E F.T. 

t I ^ 




f 


YX7 

,C?>s 

' 1 \ 

2 > 






©rrtfro m 

6 0fM ^ R uth Pufn 

*rp*:>!4,rsz- 


am 


PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 


This book is suited to charm and benefit 
all classes of readers. It is so simple a 
child may understand it, and so full of 
pathos, beauty, and instruction, that an 
adult may find intense delight and spiritual 
profit from its perusal. That it is a work of 
uncommon power, is shown by its immense 
popularity in England, where upward of 
twenty-nine thousand copies have been sold. 
That its character and tendency are good, 
is evident from the approval it has received 
from the British Sunday-School Union, and 
the London Religious Tract Society, both 
of which associations advertise it with their 
publications. A W esley an layman, no mean 


6 PREFACE TO AMERICAN EDITION. 

judge of literary excellence, lias pronounced 
it tlie best work of its class yet published. 
We endorse bis opinion, and shall be 
greatly disappointed if our readers do not 
concur with us in this judgment. But be 
this as it may, we feel sure that no man 
whose humanity is in a healthy state, can 
read it without having his emotional nature 
profoundly moved, and his aspirations for 
the happiness of his fellow-creatures power- 
fully quickened. Confident that this book 
about ministering children will be itself a 
“ ministering angel ” to its readers, we 
commend it to the attention and patronage 
of all who love a pure and healthy relig- 
ious literature. 


D. W. 


PREFACE. 


Difficulty being sometimes felt in training children 
to the exercise of those kindly feelings which have the 
poor for their object, it was thought that an illustrative tale 
might prove a help toward this important end. It must 
be allowed by all that the present is a day of increased 
exertion in behalf of those who are in need ; but much 
care is necessary that the temporal aid extended may 
prove, not a moral injury, but a moral benefit, to both 
the receiver and the communicator of that aid. May it 
not be worthy of consideration, whether the most gener- 
ally effective way to insure this moral benefit on both 
sides, would not be the early calling forth and training the 
sympathies of children by personal intercourse with want 
and sorrow, while as yet those sympathies flow sponta- 
neously ? Let the truth be borne in mind, that the in- 
fluence of the giver far exceeds that of the gift on the 


8 


PREFACE. 


receiver of it ; and it must surely then be admitted, that 
in all aid rendered to others, the calling into exercise 
the best feelings of the heart, in both the giver and 
receiver, is the most important object to be kept in view. 
To this end it is necessary that the talent of money be 
not suffered to assume any undue supremacy in the 
service of benevolence. Let children be trained, and 
taught, and led aright, and they will not be slow to learn 
that they possess a personal influence everywhere ; that 
the first principles of Divine truth acquired by them, are 
a means of communicating to others present comfort and 
eternal happiness, and that the heart of love is the only 
spring that can effectually govern and direct the hand 
df charity. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGK 

I. — Little Ruth and the Poor Sick Child 11 

IL — Little Jane and the Orphan Mercy 27 

III. — Farmer Smith’s Family 42 

IV. — Little Rose and the Widow Jones’s Cottage 56 

V. — Little Rose at Home 79 

VI. — Herbert Clifford 98 

VII. — Herbert and his Friend, Honest Jem 116 

VIII. — Herbert’s care for Old Willy 143 

IX. — The Child and the Oppressor 160 

X. — Old Willy’s Trial 194 

XI. — Little Rose and the Dying Widow 216 

XII. — Christmas Gifts 237 

XIII. — Poor Patience 265 

XIV. — Little Jane again 287 

XV. — Death at the Hall 301 

XVI. — Treading in the Footsteps of the Dead 314 

XVII. — Sunbeamings on the Steps of Poor Patience... 333 
XVIII. — Herbert Learning by Experience 351 

XIX. — How Farmer Smith’s Children Helped each 

Other 365 

XX. — The Cottage on the Heath 392 

XXI. — Death of Little Tim 412 

XXII. — Old Willy’s Departure 443 

XXIII. — A Happy Family 463 

XXIV. — Honest Jem’s Wedding 494 

XXV. — The Lady Gertrude 521 


Illustrates. 


FAOS 

Frontispiece 2 

Ruth shares her Meal with the Widow’s Child .... 17 

Miss Clifford on her Visits of Mercy 42 

Rose telling her Wish to Miss Clifford 61 

Rose on her way to Johnnie Lambert’s 82 

Herbert and Jim disposing of the Log 121 

Load of Firewood for Old Willy 156 

The leaky Roof cured 191 

Rose at the Pond 226 

Lady Gertrude and Patience 270 

Mr. Blake teaching Jane how to tell the Time .... 292 

Rose comforting the Poor Widow 373 

Jane invited to a Party 407 

Little Tim trying to cheer Patience 428 

Black Beauty come back again 479 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


^ 4 > » 

CHAPTER L 

LITTLE RUTH AND THE POOR, SICK CHILD. 

“ 0 ! say not, dream not, heavenly notes 
To childish ears are vain ; 

That the young mind at random floats, 

And cannot catch the strain. 

“ Dim or unheard the words may fall, 

And yet the heaven-taught mind 

May learn the sacred air, and all 
The harmony unwind.” 

And this is the confidence that we have in Him, that if we ask 
anything according to His will, He heareth us. — 1 John v, 14. 

The chimes of the great church clock in a large old 
town were playing a quarter to nine, on a bright Sep- 
tember morning, when a little school-girl, shutting her 
mother’s door, came stepping down the long, dark 
flight of stairs at the top of which she lived. She wore 
no shawl, or cloak, or bonnet ; a frock of dark brown 
stuff, a little white linen apron tied round her waist, a 


12 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


white linen tippet, and a little fine linen cap, with a 
single border crimped close round her face; this was 
the little school-girl’s dress. Her name was Ruth ; and 
on her arm she had hung her green baize bag with her 
Bible and school-books. 

“ Good-by, mother,” she said ; and shutting the door, 
stepped slowly down the dark staircase, while her little 
white figure lighted up its gloom. When she reached 
the ground floor of the house, she heard a low, faint 
moan, as of some child in pain ; she stopped a minute 
to listen, and heard it again. The door at the bottom 
of the staircase stood a little way open, and Ruth had 
sometimes seen the widow woman and her child who 
had come to live in that room ; and when she heard 
the moan again, she looked into the room, and there she 
saw the child in bed. 

“Are you ill?” asked Ruth. 

“ Yes,” said the child ; “ and my pain is so bad ! and 
I have nobody to be with me.” 

“ Won’t your mother come?” asked Ruth. 

“ No ; mother’s got a day’s work ; she won’t be home 
all day; and my pain is so bad! I wish you would 
stay with me.” 

“ I must go to school,” said Ruth ; “ but I will ask 
mother, when I come home, to let me stay with you.” 

“ O do ! and make haste, do make haste ! I don’t 
like to be left alone.” 


LITTLE RUTH. 


13 


Ruth went on her way to school. The sun was shin- 
ing bright, and its warm rays beamed on her face, 
which was almost as white as the little crimped 
linen cap that pressed closely round it. Merry children, 
boys and girls, ran shouting and playing past her ; but 
she walked slowly on her way to school, and went up 
the high steps, and in at the school door, as the great 
church clock was striking nine. A good mark was set 
down in the book against her name, and she went to 
her place on the form. 

Lessons went on for an hour, and the great church 
clock struck ten. Lessons went on for another hour, and 
the great church clock struck eleven. Then a lady came 
into the school, and called the second class to come to 
her. The children gathered around her, and Ruth was 
one of them. They got their Bibles and stood before 
her, and little Ruth had the place that was always hers, 
close by that lady’s side. Ruth did not answer so many 
questions as some of the other children. She never 
spoke unless she was asked, and then she answered so 
softly, that no one but the lady heard; but the lady 
always seemed to smile at Ruth when she did answer, 
as if she had answered right. 

When the great church clock struck twelve, the lady 
went away; and the children put up their books into 
their bags, and went to their homes. Ruth could not 
stay with the sick child till she had asked her mother ; 


14 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


but she thought she would just look in, and tell her she 
was come back. Ruth looked in, and the child was 
lying quite still in the bed. She did not speak, so Ruth 
went up and stood beside her. 

“ 0 ! I am so glad you are come !” said the poor child ; 
“ what a long time it was you kept at school ! 0 ! 

I want something so bad ! I can’t eat this bread 
mother left me; it’s so hard, it hurts me when I 
try.” 

“I have not had any food to-day,” said little Ruth. 

“ 0 dear,” said the sick child, “ how bad it is ! what 
do you do when you have no food ?” 

“ I tell Jesus,” said little Ruth. 

“ Who do you tell 2” asked the poor child. 

“ Jesus,” said little Ruth. 

Who is Jesus 2” asked the poor child. 

“ What ! don’t you know who Jesus is 2” said little 
Ruth. “ I thought everybody knew that but the poor 
heathen. He is our Saviour !” 

“Does he give you some food 2” asked the poor 
child. 

“ 0 yes, he often sends us some food when mother 
has nothing : but I must go to mother now, or she will 
scold.” 

“ Do ask her to let you come and stay with me,” 
said the poor child. 

“ Yes, I will,” replied little Ruth ; and she went un 


LITTLE RUTH. 


15 


the high staircase to her mother’s room. She did not 
run with light, quick steps, like children generally ; but 
she went up slow and faint; for it was not one day 
alone, but many days, that little Ruth went to school 
without food. She had lost her own father. The 
father she now had was not her own father, and he 
thought only of himself and his own wicked pleasures, 
and left his wife and her children without food. But 
little Ruth had learned to pray. The lady who came 
to the school taught her from the Bible ; and she had 
learned to know the love of God her Saviour ; she loved 
and trusted Him, and, as she said in her own words, 
when they had no food “she told Jesus.” 

When Ruth went into her mother’s room, she saw on 
the table a can of steaming soup. “ 0 mother ! is that 
for us ?” she asked. 

“ Yes, to be sure it is. Miss Wilson sent it in this 
minute.” 

Miss Wilson was the lady who came to the school. 
Ruth had not told Miss Wilson about their having no 
food that day ; so when she saw this can of hot soup, 
she knew it was Jesus, her Saviour, who had put it into 
Miss Wilson’s heart to send it to them. The poor babe 
was asleep on the bed ; but Mary, Ruth’s little sister, 
was standing at the table crying to be fed. Then the 
mother got a basin, and poured it full for Mary. There 
was meat, and rice, and potatoes in the nice hot soup ; 


16 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and poor little Mary left oft' crying directly she had her 
spoon and began to eat. Then the mother poured out 
a larger basin for Ruth, who stood quite patient by 
the table. Ruth waited a minute with her food before 
her. 

“ What are you waiting for now?” asked her mother. 
“ I have nothing more for you.” 

_ “ No, mother ; but that widow’s child is laid in bed ; 
she says her pain is so bad, and her mother ’s out work- 
ing, and she wants me to sit with her.” 

“ Poor thing !” said Ruth’s mother; “ well, take your 
dinner, and then you may go a little while if you like.” 

“ She has no food, mother, but a hard bit of bread, 
and she says she can’t eat it, because it hurts her.” 

“ 0 ! and so you want to be after giving her some of 
yours, do you ? Here, give me your basin then, and 
you take this jug.” And Ruth’s mother, pouring some 
more soup into the broken jug she had taken for her- 
self, gave it to Ruth. “ There, take care how you go, 
that you don’t lose it now you have got it !” said the 
mother. 

Ruth, holding the jug in both hands, went slowly and 
carefully down stairs. How happy was she now ! In her 
hands she held the food she so much wanted ; and the poor 
sick child, left all alone, was to share it with her and be 
happy also ! As she got near the bottom of the stair- 
case she stepped quicker in her eager haste ; then push- 


• « 







* 


§ 










LITTLE RUTH. 


IT 


ing open the door, she went in, saying, “ See here, Miss 
Wilson sent us this beautiful soup, and mother’s given 
me some for you !” 

“ 0 dear, how nice ! How glad I am !” said the poor 
child. 

“ Have you got a basin ?” asked Ruth. 

“ Yes, there is one in that closet, and a spoon too,” 
said the child. 

Ruth found a small yellow basin, and a spoon. She 
broke up the child’s dry bit of bread in the basin, poured 
some of the hot soup over it, folded her hands, and ask- 
ed a blessing in the name of Jesus, and then the two 
children dined together. The warm nourishment brought 
the color to the white cheeks of little Ruth, and soothed 
the poor, faint, weary child. “ How good you are to 
me !” she said to Ruth. “ I feel better now ; I think I 
shall go to sleep.” 

Ruth put away the basin in the closet again ; the 
sick child had closed her eyes, already almost slumber- 
ing, and the little ministering girl went back to her 
mother. 

A day or two after, as Ruth came in from school, the 
sick child’s mother was going out, and she stopped and 
said to Ruth, “ My Lucy told me how good you were to 
her. The God above bless you for it! She is always 
calling out for you. I wish you would stay a bit with 
her when you can, just to pacify her.” 


18 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Ruth’s mother gave her leave to take the babe down 
to the poor child’s room, where she still lay on her 
wretched bed, covered with a torn counterpane. Ruth 
walked up and down to quiet the babe and get it to 
sleep. She hushed and hushed it, but that would not do ; 
so at last she began to sing one of her school hymns in 
a low voice, 

“ Jesus, lover of my soul. 

Let me to thy bosom fly.” 

The sick child listened. The low, sweet singing 
soothed the infant to sleep, and the sick child into a 
quiet feeling. “ Is that Jesus you sing about who you 
ask for food ?” said the poor child. 

“Yes,” replied Ruth, “that’s Jesus our Saviour! I 
can sing you something else about our Saviourj if you 
like” 

“ Yes, do,” said the poor child ; and Ruth sang, 

“We read within thy Holy Word, 

Of how our Saviour died ; 

And those great drops of blood 
He shed at eventide.” 

Over and over again, while she rocked the sleeping baby, 
she sung the same soft words. When sho stopped the 
sick child said, “ I can’t read ; I never went to ^1 
long enough to learn.” 

“ What, can’t you read the Bible ?” said Ruth. 


LITTLE RUTH. 


19 


“No, I can’t read anything; I don’t know anything 
about it.” 

“ I can tell you all about it,” said Ruth. “ I know 
such a number of stories out of the Bible ! Miss Wilson 
tells them to us, and sometimes we tell them to her. 
And I know a great many verses, and some chapters 
and Psalms.” 

“ I like stories best,” said the poor child. 

“ Well, then, I will tell you one. Let me see, 
which shall I tell you ? 0 ! I know, I will tell you 

about the little lamb ! Oncfc there was a good man, his 
name was David ; he was not at all old, he was quite 
young; and he didn’t live in a town like this, but he 
lived in beautiful green fields, and on great high hills, 
where the flowers grow, and the trees, and where the 
birds sing. He was quite young, but he loved God, 
and Jesus Christ our Saviour. And he prayed to God. 
And when he saw the stars come out in the sky, he 
thought about Jesus our Saviour, who lives up above 
the stars in heaven, and he wrote about him in the 
Bible. He lived alone on the great high hills ; and God 
took care of him ; and he had a great many sheep and 
lambs, and they all ate the grass, and were so happy, 
and he took care of them all. But one day there came 
a great roaring lion ; he came so quiet, he did not make 
any noise, and he took a little lamb in his great mouth 
ac.d ran so fast away; but the little lamb -cried *>ut, and 

2 


20 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


David heard the little lamb, and he ran so fast that the 
great lion could not get away, and he caught the great 
lion and killed him ; and he took the little lamb in his 
arms, and carried it quite safe back to its mother. Is 
not that a pretty story ? And I know what Miss Wil- 
son tells us about it !” 

“ What does she tell you ?” asked the poor child. 

“She tell us that it is just like Jesus our Saviour; 
when Satan, the great roaring lion, tries to take us 
away, if we pray to Jesus, Jesus won’t let him have us. 
But Jesus will take us up safe in his arms, and carry us 
to heaven when we die, and then w r e shall be so happy 
there !” 

“ Will he carry me ?” asked- the poor child. 

“Yes, he will if you pray to him,” said little Ruth. 

“ I don’t know how to pray,” the poor child replied. 

“ I will teach you my prayer,” said little Ruth. 

“ 0 God, my heavenly Father, give me thy Holy 
Spirit to teach me to know and love thee. Wash me 
from all my sins in my Saviour’s precious blood. Keep 
me from all evil, and make me ready to live with thee 
forever in heaven. For the sake of Jesus my Saviour. 
Amen.” 

“ That is one of my prayers, and I can teach it to you. 
I have taught it to our Mary, and she can’t read yet.” 

The child tried to learn it, but she could not re- 



member the words. Still it seemed to soothe her to 


LITTLE RUTH. 


21 


hear Ruth repeating them. At last the poor child said, 
‘‘Wash me from all my sins? What are sins ?” 

“ We sin when we do wrong,” said little Ruth ; “ we 
can’t go with our bad ways to heaven, but Jesus can 
wash them all away in his blood.” . 

As little Ruth was coming home from school one of 
those bright September days, she saw a poor woman 
sitting on a door step with a basket full of small nose- 
gays of autumn flowers. Ruth stood still before the 
basket to look and admire. She had never known 
what it was to hunt over the meadow banks and woods 
for beautiful flowers. She had sometimes plucked a 
daisy from the grass ; but this was the only flower that 
Ruth had ever gathered. And now she stood to look 
upon the woman’s basket full of garden flowers. 
While she stood looking, a mother and her little girl 
passed by. 

“ O, mamma !” said the little girl, “ look at those 
flowers !” 

“ A penny a nosegay, ma’am : only a penny a nose- 
gay !” said the poor woman, holding out some of her 
flowers. 

“Do you wish for a nosegay, Jane?” asked the 
mother of her little girl. 

“Yes, if you please, mamma.” 

Ruth thought how happy that little girl was to have 
a nosegay of her own ! She watched her take it ; and 


22 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

then the mother and her little girl went on, and Ruth 
went slowly the other way to her home. 'But as soon 
as the little girl had left the basket of flowers, she said, 
“Mamma, did you see that poor child who looked so at 
the flowers ?” 

“Yes, Jane; do you think she wanted a nosegay?” 

“0, mamma! will you buy her one?” 

“ I have not another penny with me, or I would.” 

“ Do you think she would like me to give her mine, 
then, mamma?” 

“Yes, suppose you do; I dare say she very seldom 
has a flower.” 

“Then I will, mamma; shall we go back?” The 
little girl looked back, and saw Ruth walking slcwly 
away. 

“0, mamma, she will be gone!” 

The little girl did not like to leave her mother’s side, 
so they walked quickly back together, till they overtook 
Ruth ; and then the little girl gave her the flowers. The 
bright color came into the cheeks of little Ruth, as she 
courtesied and took the flowers ; and then she set off to 
run with them home. She could not run far, but she 
walked fast, and looked at them all the way she went. 
“ Mamma, did you see how fast that little girl ran with 
her flowers ?” asked Jane. 

“I dare say she wanted to take them home,” said 
her mother. 


LITTLE RUTH. 


23 


And so that ministering child parted with her nose- 
gay for the little girl, who had never gathered any fluwer 
but a daisy. Ruth soon reached home with her flowers; 
and first she went to the poor, sick child, and she said, 

* See what beautiful flowers I have got ! A lady bought 
them in the street, and her little girl gave them all to 
me. I will give you that beauty.” 

Then Ruth pulled out the only rose from the nosegay 
and put it into the little thin hand of the dying child. 
• u O how sweet it smells !” said the poor, sick child ; and 
she lay on her hard pillow, and the rose in her hand ; 
the only gift she had had to gladden her, except food, 
since she had laid ill in her bed. 

“Jesus, our Saviour, made the flowers,” said Ruth. 
“Miss Wilson says it was Jesus made every flower to 
grow out of the ground.” 

“How kind he must be!” said the dying child. 

Then Ruth took the rest of her flowers up to her 
mother, and they were put in water to live many days. 

Ruth used to go in often to see the poor, sick child, 
and tell her stories from the Bible, and sing her hymns 
when she had the baby with her. But one cold 
November day, when she came into the house from 
school, the poor child’s mother came crying from the 
room, and said to her: “0, I am so glad you are 
come ! I thought I must have come after you ; my 
poor child’s dying, and she keeps asking for you.” 


24 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Ruth went in and stood by the bed ; and the dying 
child said, “Dear Ruth, I am quite happy. I love you 
very much ; and I want you to sing that about, ‘ Those 
great drops of blood Jesus shed at eventide.’” Ruth 
sang it as well as she could, but she was ready to cry. 

“ I want you to sing it over and over, as you do to 
the babe,” said the dying child. 

Ruth sang it two or three times, and then she stopped ; 
the poor child had shut her eyes, and seemed asleep; 
but she soon opened them again, and said, “ O, do sing 
about ‘ Jesus, let me to thy bosom fly ” and while Ruth 
sang, and the mother stood weeping by, the little child 
fell asleep, and died. 

Ruth cried for her little friend, and missed her very 
much. But now the child’s poor mother said she 
wanted Ruth to comfort her up, as she had done her 
poor child; and she begged Ruth to read to her, and 
tell her those beautiful stories, for she could not read 
herself. And so Ruth became the poor widow’s little 
comforter. 

When we see a child dressed neat and warm in her 
school dress, we often think she is well taken care of; 
but it is not always so ; and sometimes the little school 
girl or boy is much more hungry and faint than the child 
who begs his food in the streets. We cannot tell how 
it really is with poor children, or poor men and women, 
unless we visit them in their homes. Miss Wilson had 


LITTLE RUTH. 


25 


often been to see little Ruth, so she knew all her sor- 
rows; and she comforted, and often fed the little girl, 
and loved her very much. 

But there was another child who went to the same 
school, and wore the same neat dress, and stood in the 
same class as Ruth ; hut she had no comforter. Her 
name was Patience. She lived, like Ruth, in one room, 
up a dark staircase ; but she had no mother, like Ruth. 
Her mother died when she was an infant; and pool 
Patience had never had any one to love or comfort her. 
Her father was a bad and cruel man. Patience had 
been taken care of by an elder sister ; but her sister was 
gone quite away from her home, and she lived alone 
with her father. She came to school every day, but 
she generally came late ; she had learned to read there, 
but she hardly ever knew her lessons; and she never 
answered when asked the reason. She was very small, 
and very thin; and the lady who came to the school 
never saw her laugh, or smile, or cry; she always 
looked upon the ground, her lips were pressed together, 
and she seldom answered when spoken to. 

Miss Wilson and the lady at the school thought she 
did not care about anything. She had never been to see 
her in her home ; she thought it was no use to go and 
gee a child who seemed not to care for anything. So 
she did not know the sorrows of the little girl, and 
therefore she did not try to comfort her. Nothing seemed 


26 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


to amuse or interest her ; she looked with the same dull 
eyes on all. Poor Patience had no comforter ; no blessed 
ministering child had been yet to her. 

One day, as Patience was walking to school, a little 
companion came and walked by her side; a rosy -faced 
child, eating bread and butter, finishing her breakfast on 
the way to school. Poor Patience had had no food that 
morning ; she would have been so thankful for a part of 
the child’s bread and butter ; but she did not ask for any, 
and when they reached the school, the child threw all 
she had left of it to a fat, black goat, who lived at a 
stable close by. The black goat tossed his head and ate 
it up. Then poor Patience said, “ O, Nancy, how glad I 
should be of the food you waste !” and she stood watch- 
ing the black goat eating up the bread and butter. But 
Nancy was not like little Ruth, she was not a minister- 
ing child, and she ran up the steps into the school, and 
thought no more of her bread and butter, and her little 
hungry schoolfellow. 


LITTLE JANE. 


27 


CHAPTER II. 

LITLE JANE AND THE ORPHAN MERCY. 

And if there he any other commandment, it is briefly compre- 
hended in this saying, namely, Thou shalt love thy neighbor ag 
thyself. — Romans xiii, 9. 

It was a large old town in which little Ruth and Pa- 
tience dwelt. There were streets broad and narrow, long 
winding streets and short ones that cut across from oue 
to another. Old churches stood about the town, and 
new ones were built among the new-built houses. There 
was a busy market, a town hall, and shops large and 
small, to which the country people came from far 
and near. 

In one of the broad streets, at the corner of a short 
and narrow one, there stood a large grocer’s shop. Tea 
and coffee, white sugar and brown, dried fruits and 
spices, candles and sugar-candy ; all sorts of things that 
grocers sell, were sold at that corner shop. Mr. Mans- 
field was the grocer’s name ; and many a step passed in 
at that shop-door when no purchase was to be made, for 
there was no good cause in all the town, that had not 


28 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


some interest in Mr Mansfield’s heart ; and for the most 
part in his shop also, where gold and silver found a 
ready way out as well as in. The rule of weight in that 
shop seemed to be, “ Good measure, pressed down, and 
shaken together, and running over.” The poor people 
from far and near, had all a fancy for that corner shop ; 
no one ever asked why. Perhaps there was no need, 
where every one felt the same. 

Behind the shop there was a parlor, where Mrs. Mans- 
field usually sat, because it was easy for Mr. Mansfield 
to step in there, and rest himself a little, when oppor- 
tunity offered. It was Mrs. Mansfield and her little 
daughter Jane who had passed by when Ruth was 
looking at the flowers. Jane was the ministering child 
who had made little Ruth so happy with her nosegay. 
Little Jane had several brothers and a baby sister. 

Their nurse was a tall, grave woman; she never played 
with them, never sang to the baby, and yet they were 
all as merry and happy as children could wish to be ; 
their happiness was her happiness, and their infant 
troubles her care to soothe; and just at the right time 
she could always think of and say the right thing. The 
nurse did not undertake to teach the children in her 
charge any lessons out of books. Her own reading was 
not of the most perfect kind; but they learned some 
lessons from her heart and life no after time could efface. 
One lesson that they learned from their nurse was, 


LITTLE JANE. 


29 


reverence for old age. How quick those little children 
were to see an old man or an old woman coming down 
the street, when they were walking out ; to step off the 
narrow pavement to leave them room, while they would 
look up at them with kindness and interest, and be sure 
to see in a moment if anything could be done to help 
them. Another lesson these little children learned from 
their nurse was truth. Their nurse had never anything 
to conceal; she always did and said the same in their 
mother’s absence as in her presence, so that the children 
always believed their mother and their nurse to have 
one way in everything. And the children were all 
familiar with the sight of the large Bible with its buck- 
ram cover, from which their nurse sat to read ; learning 
with earnest care the way to heaven. 

Some hours of every day little Jane passed with her 
mother, learning to read and work. One day, when the 
reading was done, before the work-box was opened, Mrs. 
Mansfield said to Jane, “I must go out to attend a 
penny club meeting ; would you like to go with me ?” 

Jane was delighted to go, and ran up to nurse, to put 
on her things. “I don’t know where mamma is going,” 
said Jane ; “ I could not understand.” 

“I know,” replied the nurse; “it is the penny club 
meeting to-day ; that’s where your mamma is going.” 

“What is that?” asked Jane. 

“ It is for the poor,” replied nurse. 


30 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Now little Jane had so often heard her parents speak- 
ing of the poor, and seen her mother working hard, 
and when she asked her, “ Why do you work so long, 
mamma?” she would say, “For the poor,” that Jane 
had no doubt the poor belonged to her parents ; and 
therefore that they belonged also to her; and she always 
listened with interest to all that was said about them. 

“ Are you going for the poor, mamma ?” asked little 
Jane, as she set out with her hand in her mother’s. 

“Yes, my dear,” replied Mrs. Mansfield; “your 
parents can buy you all the clothes you want, but there 
are a great many poor people who can hardly tell how 
to feed their children, and they cannot possibly buy 
them warm clothing. Sq some richer people said, that 
if these people would lay by one penny a week, for a 
whole year, they would put another penny to it, and then, 
at the end of the year, these poor people would have 
all those pennies put together, which would make many 
shillings for them to take to the shop and buy warm 
clothes for their poor little children. But this is the 
Town Hall, where we are going, and you must try and 
listen to what is said.” 

Jane sat on a step at the top of the room, by the 
bench where her mother was seated, and she looked up 
at the speaker, and listened to all he said. Before the 
speaker had done, he looked down to where little Jane 
was sitting, and said, “ Perhaps there are some children 


LITTLE JANE. 


31 


here who could lay by one penny a week, to clothe some 
poor little boy or girl, who has no warm dress like their 
own. Would it not give them more pleasure than 
spending their money on themselves ?” 

Jane heard and understood what the speaker was 
saying, and she thought it was exactly what she could 
do, because she received from her mother a penny every 
Saturday, to spend as she liked best. But she did not 
say anything then to her mother, because she had been 
told at other meetings, that she must sit still, and not 
speak. 

After the meeting Mrs. Mansfield talked long with 
the ladies present. Little Jane held fast by her moth- 
er’s hand, which she tried to draw with secret impatience 
toward the door. At last Mrs. Mansfield said, “ Good- 
morning,” to the ladies, and went down the Town Hall 
steps alone with her little girl. 

“ O, mamma ! mamma ! would not my penny do for 
the poor ?” asked Jane. 

“Not one penny, dear. One penny would not do 
much in clothing a child.” 

“No, mamma, not one penny ; but my penny every 
week for a whole year, like what you told me as we 
came.” 

“ Yes, that would meet some poor mother’s penny, 
and clothe her child.” 

“ May I give it then, mamma 


32 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“I am afraid you would wish for it after a little 
while ; you could buy no ribbons for your doll, or sweet- 
meats and cakes for a feast; nor could you go to the 
toyshop for a whole year, and a year is a long time.” 

“No, mamma, but I could help the little child who 
has no warm clothes !” 

“Yes, you would make the poor child warm and 
happy ; and the poor mother would see her child run 
about warm and neat as I see you.” 

“ 0, mamma, I wish Saturday was come!” 

“ But what if you grow tired, Jane, and begin to want 
the things you have been used to buy for play ? I can- 
not help you ; your father and I have given all we can 
afford. If you begin you must go on, or you must dis- 
appoint the child !” 

“ I do not want any more toys or sweetmeats, mam- 
ma ; I will not disappoint the child : may I try ?” 

“ Yes ; indeed you shall, if you wish. I hoped to 
have found some lady at the Town Hall who would have 
been able to help a poor old woman who came to me 
yesterday to ask for her little ‘granddaughter, when all 
my tickets were promised, but now it seems my own 
little girl will be her friend !” 

“0 yes, mamma: how glad I am; shall I see the 
little girl ? does she live in the town ?” 

“ No ; she lives in a village seven miles off. She is a 
little orphan, and her poor old grandmother has taken 


LITTLE JANE. 


33 


her home to live with her. Her grandmother said she 
was coming into the town to-morrow, and I told her to 
*all on me. I do not know whether the little girl will 
->e with her.” 

“ Do you know what the little girl’s name is ?” 

“ No ; but we can ask her grandmother to-morrow. 
Now I am going into this shop to buy you some winter 
stockings.” 

“Mamma,” said little Jane, when they left the shop, 
“ may I give my old socks to the little girl ?” 

“ I am afraid they would not be large enough,” re- 
plied Mrs. Mansfield ; “ but I have some worsted stock- 
ings of your brother Edward’s that would be sure to fit 
her : if you like to spend a little of your play-time every 
day in mending them neatly enough to be worn, then 
you shall have them to give to the little girl.” 

“ Do you not think her grandmother could mend 
them, mamma, as you do for us ?” 

“ Yes, I dare say she could ; but she is sure to have 
plenty of other things to do, and I could not let you give 
to the poor that which you had taken no pains to have 
ready for use and comfort.” 

“ But I do not know how to mend stockings, mam- 
ma.” 

“ It is not very difficult. You could soon learn how 
to do it, and I think you would be very happy working 
for the poor little orphan girl.” 


34 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“Yes, I should : is it as hard as stitching, do you think ?” 

“ No ; the threads are not so fine.” 

“ Shall I begin to-day, mamma?” 

“ Yes, if you like ; I will find the stockings for you as 
soon as I go home.” 

“Nurse! nurse!” said little Jane, running in, “I am 
going to help buy warm clothes for a poor little girl, with 
my penny, every week; and mamma is going to give 
me all Edward’s old warm stockings, if I mend them up 
quite neat.” 

“ Well, that’s a good beginning,” said nurse ; “ if you 
do but hold fast to it.” 

And so, in one short hour, little Jane had stepped into 
a world of thought and feeling that seemed at first to 
hide from sight much that before had power to please. 
It was but the lighter tones of childhood’s merriment, 
blending with the deeper echoes of the heart’s re- 
sponsive sympathy, and her life yielded their mingled 
harmony. 

That afternoon little Jane began the stocking-mend- 
ing in her play hours, seated at her mother’s side. 
After a while she sighed, and said, “ It is rather hard at 
first, mamma.” 

“ So are many good things at first, my child. Would 
you like to give up doing them, and learn when you are 
a little older to mend stockings for yourself, instead of 
learning now for the poor ?” 


LITTLE JANE. 


85 


“0 no, mamma! How nice it will be when I have 
done one pair ! May I keep them in my own box ?” 

“Yes, you may have each pair as you finish them. 
You shall fold them up, and keep them yourself. But 
if you get tired, and wish to give up doing them, you 
have only to tell me. I could not let you give up if I 
were teaching you for yourself; but no one should work 
unwillingly for the poor.” 

“ I should never like to give it up, mamma ; I do not 
mind if it is a little hard.” 

And Jane worked busily on, till her mother said, 
“ Notv you have done quite enough for one day, and 
quite as well as I could expect; you can go to the 
nursery and play with your brother till tea.” And 
merry were the shouts of the happy child as she ran, 
fresh from her self-chosen service of love, across the 
nursery-floor with her little brother at play. 

At tea Mr. Mansfield heard what Jane intended 
to do with her pennies : he quite approved. But 
when she climbed upon his knee, before her mother 
took her to bed, he smiled and said, “ Perhaps my 
little daughter thinks her father can find her candies 
without pennies to buy them ?” 

“ 0 no, papa, I don’t want any more. I shall be so 
happy when I have made the little girl quite warm !” 

“ So you will, my Jane, and so is every one happy 
who tries from the heart to help the poor and needy 
3 


86 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and with his blessing he sent her to her rest. Jane went 
to her pillow full of thoughts of her little unknown friend. 
Already she loved the orphan her hand was helping to 
clothe. She longed for the next day, that she might get 
on with the warm stockings for her feet ; and then she 
remembered she was to see the old grandmother who 
would put the penny to meet her penny. Her happy 
thoughts blended in bright confusion, till, like folded 
flowers at night, they closed their leaves, and all were 
lost in deep and gentle slumber. 

The next morning Jane gave many a look from the 
nursery window on the street below, and nurse was often 
called to see whether any one of those who came in 
sight could be the grandmother. At last a knock at 
the street door, then her mother’s call to her, and Jane 
ran down, stopping a minute at the parlor door ; it stood 
open a little way, and Jane could see the old woman 
and the little girl. Jane ventured slowly in and stood 
close by her mother’s side. 

“Well, Jane,” said her mother, “ this is your little 
friend. It is my little daughter, Mrs. Jones, who wishes 
to put her penny to meet yours. What is your grand- 
daughter’s name ?” 

“Mercy, ma’am; Mercy Jones. Make a courtesy, 
Mercy, to the young lady, and say, Thank you.” 

Jane hid her face behind her mother, and hoped 
nobody would say any more to her, till after a time her 


LITTLE JANE. 


37 


mother said, “Now you may go back to the nursery, 
J ane.” 

Jane stole a look at little Mercy, as she went slowly 
out, and she felt as if she cared more about that poor 
little girl than all her play ; and, going back to the nursery, 
she watched till they went away, the tall old woman and 
the little girl. Then the sound of her brother at his 
play broke again upon her ear, and she ran to join him. 

In two days more the first pair of stockings were 
mended. Jane learned how to fold them up ; then sho 
carried them safely to her own little trunk ; all her 
treasures were taken out, and the stockings put in first, 
safe on one side of the box, plenty of room was left for 
the other five pair near them, and then the other contents 
of the box were piled on its other side ; and when at 
last Jane had shut the lid and turned away, she came 
back once more to see again how nice they looked, all 
ready for the orphan child ! It was the first labor of 
her hands for the poor and needy. A child’s large 
feeling on so small an occasion may win a smile ; but 
the occasion had, for the first time, touched the deep 
chord of human sympathy within her heart, and tha 
vibration was long and full. 

Weeks passed away, and when the snow of new-year’s 
day lay thick upon the ground, the stockings were all 
done, six folded pairs of mended stockings in Jane’s own 
trunk, all ready for the orphan child. Then came 


88 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


another visit from the old grandmother, but not from 
little Mercy. “Bless you, miss,” said the old grand- 
mother, as she took the piled-up stockings from Jane’s 
trembling hands, “ would not Mercy have liked to come ! 
but her poor feet are so bad with the chilblains, she 
can’t put them to the ground ; but won’t they soon be 
well when she has run about a bit in these warm stock- 
ings ! Why, they are the most beautiful stockings that 
ever I saw, and enough of them to last her almost till 
she grows an old woman !” 

“ They would not fit her then,” said little Jane. 

“ No, dear, no more they would, but I can biggen 
them a bit when they get too small ; I understand all 
that sort of thing, I was always brought up to it.” 

“ Will they really make her feet well ?” asked Jane, 
remembering the old woman’s words to that effect. 

“ Yes, dear, that they will ; the sight of them almost, I 
think, for she has hardly had a bit of stocking under her 
boots all this hard winter ; and the boots are got stiff, 
and her feet are tender, for when her poor father was 
alive she was well clothed. I do all I can for her, and 
she never complains, but I am often afraid she feels 
the difference.” 

“ They are all mended,” said Jane ; “ mamma says 
they will do quite well ; I did not know how to mend 
stockings before.” 

“ Well, dear, it will be none the worse for you that 


LITTLE JANE. 


39 


you learned it for the poor and the fatherless. I think I 
see the look of my Mercy when I show them to her ! I 
know her first word will be, ‘ O grandmother, now I 
can soon go to the Sunday school again !’ She is 
wonderfully fond of her school since Miss Clifford came 
to teach in it, and Miss Clifford takes a wonderful deal 
of notice of her, and has been to see- her. She did 
not know the poor dear had not a stocking to her foot, 
or that would soon have been there.” 

“ Could you not have told her ?” asked Jane. 

“ Why no, miss, I never tell ; I say always, if it 
comes it comes, and I know where it comes .from. But 
if I asked, why, it might be another thing !” 

Mrs. Mansfield, who had left little J ane alone with the 
old woman, came back just in time to hear this last 
sentence, and to see the earnest, inquiring look Jane 
fixed on the old woman, whose reply she had not been 
able to understand. Mrs. Jones shortly after took her 
leave, and Jane was left alone with her mother. 

“ Did you understand what Mrs. Jones was saying 
when I came in, Jane?” 

“ No, mamma ; what did she mean ? why did she not 
tell the lady about her little granddaughter having no 
stockings ?” 

“ I think you will understand my meaning if I put it 
in my words. Poor Mrs. Jones meant that she told her 
wants only to God, and then if help came to relieve 


40 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


those wants, she knew that it was God who sent it to her, 
by some earthly friend. The honest and industrious 
poor, who have been accustomed to earn all they 
receive, do not often like to ask of any one but God.” 

“But, mamma, if they do not tell, how can it be 
known ?” 

“We must ask of God to teach us to know the wants 
of the poor. And if we really wish to help and com- 
fort them, God will put it into our hearts to supply the 
wants he knows they have. You did not know that 
little Mercy Jones had no stockings, but you wished to 
help and comfort her, and you were led to prepare the 
very thing she wanted.” 

Little Jane was silent, lost in the thrilling awe of one 
who felt herself to have been chosen and taught of God 
to supply the want she had not known. Her mother 
knew the power such first impressions have to train the 
heart’s young faith, and with her arm round little Jane, 
she sat in silence too. 

“Then, mamma,” at last said Jane, “I can never 
know unless God teaches me ?” 

“ God is your heavenly Father, Jane, and he will 
teach you all he wishes you to know, if you love to 
learn of him.” 

“But how will he teach me to help the poor, 
mamma ?” 

“ God will teach you sometimes by putting the 


LITTLE JANE. 


41 


thought in your heart ; but he will also teach you in 
other ways : has he not given you an eye and an ear ?” 

“ Yes, mamma.” 

“Then ho meant you to use them; do you not 
often find out what I want without my having to 
tell you?” 

“ Yes, mamma, because I live with you.” 

“ I am afraid I might get many little girls, and grown 
up people also, to live with me, and they would not find 
out the things I often want, without my asking, as you 
do. Is it only because you live with me ?” 

“0, no, mamma; it is because I love you as well.” 

“Yes, dear Jane, this is the secret: you love me, 
and therefore you find out my wishes and wants as far 
as your power permits ; and if you love God, you will 
quickly learn how to serve him, according to his holy 
will ; and if you love the* poor, you will be sure to find 
out their wants and how to comfort them.” 

The clock struck eleven. “ 0, mamma,” exclaimed 
Jane, “ I have not done my lessons, and it is eleven 
o’clock!” 

“Never mind that to-day, my dear ; perhaps we have 
been learning what lesson-books could not teach us ; you 
can do your writing now.” And well it was for that 
young mind not at once to be pressed with lessons. It 
had felt and thought enough for one morning, and 
writing was mental rest. 


42 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER HI. 

FARMER SMITH’S FAMILY. 

If ye love Me, keep my commandments. — John xiv, 15. 

The village where Mercy lived with her grandmother 
was seven miles distant from the town where Mrs. Mans 
field, and little Jane, and Patience, and little Ruth lived. 
The village church stood on a hill, and close beside it 
the clergyman’s dwelling, hid among trees. There was 
a large and beautiful house in the village, called the 
Hall, where the Squire lived ; and Miss Clifford, little 
Mercy’s friend, was the Squire’s daughter. 

Miss Clifford loved the poor who lived around her 
home ; she had loved them from the time when she was 
but a little child, and they loved her. Miss Clifford had 
a white pony named Snowflake. When a little child, 
she often rode out with her father, and called with him 
at the farms, and sometimes at the cottages. And when 
she grew older she had a groom of her own to ride out 
with her every day, and then she often went alqne to 
the houses of the poor. She used to carry her little 
Bible with her, and read to the poor old people who 













FARMER SMITH’S FAMILY. 


43 


could not read for themselves : the very sound of her 
voice seemed to comfort them, and still more the blessed 
words that she read ; and feeble old people, and little 
children just able to run alone, would learn from her 
lips the holy words of the Bible ; those precious words 
which lead all who love them to heaven. 

It was not Mrs. Clifford who had taught her little 
daughter to visit the poor. Mrs. Clifford felt for the 
poor, and sent them gifts at Christmas; but she did 
not know what it was to love the poor and be loved by 
them, for she had never been among them herself. Yet 
Mrs. Clifford loved the word of God, so she was happy 
that her child should early tread the blessed path that 
leads among the homes of the. poor, though s"he felt 
unable to visit them herself. The poor people, who had 
no one else to teach them as she did, believed that 
God had put it into her heart to be their comforter; and 
this reason for her visits to them, and her care and love 
for them, no doubt, was the true one. 

Miss Clifford had no sister, but she had a *brother 
some few years younger than herself. He was a wild, 
high-spirited boy, with a generous disposition ; but a 
long habit of pleasing himself had made him selfish 
and too often disobedient. Mr. Clifford was a very in- 
dulgent father. He allowed Herbert, for Herbert was 
the boy’s name, to amuse himself just as he pleased, to 
spend his money as he liked, and he provided for him 


44 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

every gratification suitable to his age and circumstances. 
But with all this indulgence Herbert was never 
allowed in a single act of disobedience, nor was he ever 
allowed to break through any rule or principle of jus- 
tice toward others. Herbert knew that if the lessons 
that his tutor required him to prepare w^ere neglected, 
his father would never admit any idle excuse. The rules 
to which Herbert was subjected by his father were but 
few, but such as they were they might never be broken. 
This Herbert knew ; but his wild spirits and his haste 
after amusement, led him sometimes to forget; and 
then he would fancy that not to be disobedience which 
proved to be so, when tried by the rule of his kind but 
firm parent. Herbert had never yet known what it was 
to be a ministering child. 

Mr. Clifford was a great favorite among his tenants. 
He was no less firm as a landlord than he was as a 
father ; but then he was as kind and considerate as he 
was firm. No rule he made was allowed to be trifled 
with ; but his rules were simple and few, and known by 
all who dwelt on his estate; and his tenants, both farm- 
ers and laborers, learned at last to know that he made 
their interest one with his own. His feeling was strong 
of the common brotherhood uniting the whole human 
family, and made itself manifest, whether occasion led 
him to speak to the stone-breaker on the road, or the 
poorest cottage child. 


FARMER SMITH’S FAMILY. 


45 


It is ever those who best know, and best fill their 
own position, who can most readily and effectually keep ' 
all with whom they have intercourse, each one in his 
own place. In retaining ourselves, and regarding in 
others, the simple standing that God has given, there is 
a native dignity, a moral elevation, which, while it tends 
to set aside the false assumptions of pride, makes a con- 
stant demand on the effort to maintain that integrity, 
both in ourselves and others, without which none can 
fill the earthly position to which God has called them. 

All the farms in the village were the property of Mr. 
Clifford, except one occupied by a farmer named Smith, 
whose father and grandfather had rented the same farm 
before him. Farmer Smith’s fields were kept like a garden 
for neatness ; and every ear of the wheat that waved on 
them in the golden harvest-time was sown by the hands 
of the village children. When brown and soft October 
came to mellow earth and sky, when the plow had 
turned the fields’ rich mold, and the heavy roll had 
pressed the long ridges flat, and the wide-spreading rake 
had broken the hard clods, then went the sowers forth ; 
fathers with their merry children, girls and boys, all 
whose little feet could pace the fields backward and for- 
ward and not grow weary, whose fingers could drop the 
precious grain from the little wooden basket held on 
their left arm, three grains into each hole, all these 
might go ; two lines following their fathers, who, walk- 


46 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


ing backward, made two boles at every step with iron 
rods in their hands ; following as fast as they could 
their father’s fast steps, and stooping low as they follow- 
ed, they dropped in the grain with their little fingers ; 
thus the bread that was to feed thousands, was sown by 
the hands of little children. 

But wheat-sowing, like all other things on earth, has 
its wintery days ; and when November proves damp and 
cold, the wet land gets heavy, and the children suffer. 
This had been little Mercy’s first year of dropping 
wheat. When her parents were living, Mercy never 
thought of being among the little droppers ; but they 
had both died of fever in one year, and left their orphan 
child to earn her bread under the care of her kind old 
grandmother, and her uncle Jem, her grandmother’s 
only son, who lived with his mother. Mercy had lived 
three years with her grandmother, and now she thought 
it a pleasant thing to go and work under the blue sky 
in the fresh-plowed fields. And so it was ; but when 
the wintery rains came, the work grew heavy for her 
slight strength; her boots became stiff with the wet 
land, the chilblains settled in her feet, and when the 
dropping-time was over little Mercy was laid up, unable 
to walk ; her greatest sorrow being, as her grandmother 
had stated, that she could not get to the Sunday school, 
where Miss Clifford now taught. 

The eldest of Farmer Smith’s family was a son named 


FARMER SMITH’S FAMILY. 


47 


William. William seemed to know and love every foot 
of land on the farm, every tree, and every living creature 
there. But the chief favorites were a dog called Rover, 
and a young horse named Black Beauty. Black Beauty 
was born and reared on the farm ; when a foal he fol- 
lowed William like a dog, and now he was committed 
to William’s care, and though only lately broken in and 
full of spirit, William could manage him, without whip 
or rein, by the sound of his voice. The horse was a 
beautiful creature, and Farmer Smith would say some- 
times, that if the children had not all been so fond of 
the horse, he must have taken one of the many high offers 
he had had for him ; but as it was, he made his chil- 
drens affection for the creature a cover for his own, and 
a fair excuse for keeping him. Besides which, Farmer 
Smith knew that the last thing Mrs. Smith would ap- 
prove, would be to see the horse led away ; and so, in 
consequence of all these reasons taken together, Black 
Beauty led an easy life, with none but familiar and 
kindly voices falling on his sensitive ears. 

Mr. Smith’s next son, Joseph, called by the family 
Joe, was very quick at his books ; therefore his father 
kept him a year longer than he would otherwise have 
done, as a boarder at a school in the town ; but it was 
considered that he had now learned sufficient, and he 
was put to work on the farm. 

The younger boys were Samson and Ted. Rose, the 


48 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


only girl, was the treasure of her father’s heart, and the 
light of his life : he had her named Rose, for that had 
been his mother’s name, and he said, “ May be, if she 
has the name, she may take after the nature too, and 
my mother was one of the best of women ; ask the poor 
if that isn’t true, and I will always trust them for know- 
ing what anybody is !” 

Rose went when very young to the village day school. 
There she formed a friendship with little Mercy, and 
was learning quite enough to satisfy her father; but 
Mrs. Smith was not so easily satisfied. Mrs. Smith said 
they had but one girl, and she should always consider 
that they had been' very much to blame if they did not 
give her a good education, and a boarding-school was 
the place to which she ought to be sent ; that if she 
were willing to part with the child, she did not see why 
Mr. Smith should object. Mr. Smith felt as if the sun- 
beam would pass from everything, if his little Rose were 
taken from his home; but he never opposed anything 
on which his wife was resolved ; so Mrs. Smith made 
all the arrangements, and William drove Rose with 
Chestnut, the chaise-horse, to her boarding-school. 

The strange faces and stiff ways of the townspeople, 
and the long streets, instead of wild lanes and trees, 
were very dull to the country child ; but she learned her 
lessons, worked a sampler which -was put in a frame, 
and came home at midsummer- like a bird free from it g 


FARMER SMITH’S FAMILY. 


49 


cage. On reaching her home, Rose sprang from the 
chaise into her father’s arms ; her young brothers, Sam- 
son and Ted, came out with their welcome. Rose kissed 
them, rushed up the staircase to her mother, who had 
not expected her so soon ; then down again to speak to 
Molly ; then into the farm-yard, where she stroked Ro- 
yer, and all the cows, who were reposing in the straw 
till the cow-house door should be opened; then into 
the stable, where she threw her arms round Black 
Beauty’s neck ; and, finally, was attempting to count the 
fowls, which baffled her skill by running one among 
another, when out came her mother at the back-door, 
saying, ‘ Why, child ! you run about like wild ; come 
in to tea, do.’ And Rose was soon in her old place by 
her father’s side at tea. 

But this Christmas-time, her second holidays, Rose 
had come home with graver thoughts. A little school- 
fellow had died, and the sense of separation and death 
had passed for the first time over her heart. Rose did not 
say anything about it; she did not know very well what to 
say ; her mother was a person of but few words, and those 
few were mostly quick ones; and Rose hardly knew that a 
change had passed over her which others might observe. 

Her mother saw that she had lost her wild spirits, but 
still she was often merry, and she ran about and made 
snow-balls with her brothers. But at other times she 
would sit thinking alone in the chimney corner, watch- 


50 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


ing the burning wood, and the flame creeping up over the 
great logs. She wondered where her little schoolfellow 
could be; she knew that she -was somewhere, not where 
her body was laid, in the dark grave ; where, then, was 
she? Rose knew there were two worlds beyond the 
grave; one the holy heaven, and another the dreadful 
hell ; to which, then, was her little schoolfellow gone ? 
Rose could not tell. And then came the thought : If I 
should die like her, where should I go ? Rose felt she 
did not know ; and then she thought upon the words 
their minister had said, whose sermons she heard at 
school, sermons which even a child could understand 
and remember ; and she wished that she could think of 
all he had preached about, and do as he had said that 
all who had God for their heavenly Father should do; 
and all these thoughts made her grave. 

On the last day of the year, Mrs. Smith was busy 
ironing ; Rose had finished the little things her mother 
had given her to do, and was seated on her stool 
by the fire, where she remained for some time quite 
silent. 

“What are you thinking of, child?” at last said her 
mother. 

“Why, I was thinking, mother, that I wished our 
minister here preached like the one where I go to 
school. I can’t understand anything here.” 

“How does your minister preach?” 


FARMER SMITH'S FAMILY. 


51 


“He preaches about our Saviour, and he speaks it so 
plain, I am never tired of listening. I wish he were 
here.” 

“And if he were here, you would not hear him half 
so often. You have three times as many Sundays at 
school as you have at home ; I am sure I would not 
trouble about that.” 

“No, mother, but if he were here, then you and father 
would hear him too.” 

“And I suppose it’s that you always sit thinking of?” 

“No, mother, not of that.” 

“ What is it then ?” 

“Why the last Sunday before I came away from 
school, our minister preached about, ‘Feed my sheep,’ 
and ‘Feed my lambs;’ he said that our Saviour had 
told us to do so, and that it meant doing all we could 
for others ; to help them for this world, and that good 
place where good people go; and I have been thinking 
that I don’t do anything to help others.” 

“ Well, child, I am sure I don’t know. But I can’t 
see that it can belong to the like of you to be after do- 
ing for others. I think if you mind your lessons at 
school, and do what I set you to at home, you may very 
well play between whiles, and take it easy too.” 

“But, mother, so many people do think about help- 
ing others ; it’s only I that do nothing 1” 

“ So many people, child ! what do you mean ? 

4 


52 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


think everybody is for self; that is the beginning and 
the end with most that I see.” 

“ That’s how it is with me, mother, but it is not so 
with all ! When I went to spend the day with Aunt 
Mackenzie, at the Hall, she put up the prettiest little 
apple-pudding in a basin with a cloth over it, and sent 
it up to Miss Clifford ; and I asked her if Miss Clifford 
was not well, for I thought that must be her dinner sent 
up to her; and Aunt Mackenzie laughed, and said that 
was not the way to serve up ladies’ dinners ; and then 
she told me that there was a poor old woman near, dy- 
ing of old age, and that Miss Clifford went to carry her 
a little pudding, which the old woman liked better than 
meat. I said, I wondered Miss Clifford did not send it, 
when she had so many servants ! and Aunt Mackenzie 
said, It was Miss Clifford’s taking it that made the best 
part of it. She feeds her herself ! and she said none could 
think what her hand and her voice could do for sickness, 
that had not known it as she had.” 

“Well, child, but you don’t think you could do like 
Miss Clifford, I suppose ?” 

“ No, mother, but you know you often do send some- 
thing to sick people; and I thought if I took it to them, 
perhaps they might like it all the better, and then 
I should be trying to do as our minister said.” 

“Well, I don’t know but what they would, if you are 
bent on being like Miss Clifford !” 


FARMER SMITH’S FAMILY. 53 

“No, mother, I could never be like Miss Clifford; but 
I do sometimes think if Miss Clifford did but teach me, 
as she teaches Mercy, I might learn more of what our 
minister at school says.” 

“Well, child, it’s all very well for Miss Clifford to be 
thinking about everybody else, but, as I say, Miss Clif- 
ford is no rule for yon, that I can see.” 

“No, mother, but there is Miss Mansfield in the town; 
Neighbor Jones says that she has put Mercy into the 
penny club this year, and Miss Mansfield is younger 
than I am.” 

“I dare say that was her mother’s doings; and selling 
tea no doubt is better than sowing wheat, for it was not 
much of it that was likely to come up if the weather had 
held so wet as it was !” 

“But then, mother, there is Mercy herself; when I 
was at home last midsummer, and you sent me to ask 
how Dame Clark was, there was Mercy, upon the table 
by the window, all alone, with her Bible on her knee. 
I asked her why she was there; and she said, Dame 
Clark had just fallen asleep, and she had come down to 
watch, for the people made such a knocking on the door 
when they wanted anything, she was afraid they would 
wake her. And I asked her who sent her to nurse 
Dame Clark; and she said, nobody sent her, but that she 
liked to do it. And I asked if it was not very dull ; and 
she said, that it was not dull at all; that Dame Clark 


54 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


liked her to read chapters and verses to her, and 
to hear her sing; and she said Dame Clark called her 
Comfort!” 

“I always did say that Mercy was the best child 
in the parish,” replied Mrs. Smith ; “ I never look twice 
after her, let her be doing what she will up here.” 

“ But, mother, I don’t do anything for others.” 

“ Well, child, what would you do ?” 

“Why, yesterday, Widow Lambert told me that little 
Johnnie could not leave his bed, with the chilblains in 
his feet. She said he had quite outgrown and worn up 
his socks, and she could not make the money to buy him 
any more; and I thought if I might but have a little of 
our worsted, I could knit him a pair of socks in my 
pi ay- time.” 

“ Well, I have no objection, I am sure,” replied Mrs. 
Smith; u but what’s the use of one pair?” 

“O, mother, I could make him two pair, if I might!” 

“Well, to be sure, two is better than one any day!” 

“ May I begin to-day then, mother ?” 

“I thought your needles were set fast with your 
father’s stockings, and you w r on’t do much more than 
finish them of evenings, these short holidays ; but if you 
wish to be doing the socks, I will lend you mine, wher. 
I have finished the pair I am knitting for Ted ; but I am 
only in the first sock yet.” 

A cloud passed over the joyous look that had 


FARMER SMITH'S FAMILY. 


55 


kindled on the face of little Rose, at her mother’s le^ive 
to make two pair of socks, when she found that 
she must wait days for needles ; but still her heart felt 
lighter; she had talked with her mother about it, and it 
was not so bad as she expected. 

When Rose was gone to her pillow that night, Mrs. 
Smith said, “ I have found out what ails the child ; 
she wants to be after the poor, doing for them.” 

“ Don’t say a word against it,” replied Mr. Smith ; 
“let the child have her way; it’s just like my mother. 
She took to reading her Bible, and caring for the poor, 
when she was quite young; I heard my grandmother 
say so, and she made one of the best of women. I hoped 
the child would take after her grandmother when I 
named her Rose.” 


56 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTEK IY. 

‘LITTLE ROSE AND THE WIDOW JONES'S 
COTTAGE. 

Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not ; for 
of such is the kingdom of heaven.” — Mark x, 14. 

Every one was up early who had anything to do on 
Mr. Smith’s farm. Mr. Smith set all his men to work, 
and then was ready for breakfast by seven o’clock. It 
was the last day of the year on which Rose had talked 
to her mother about making the socks for little Johnnie; 
and on the new-year’s morning, while setting the 
breakfast-table by candle light, she heard Widow Jones 
speaking to her mother at the back door. 

Rose guessed that Widow Jones was going off to the 
town ; and she was right, it was the very day on which 
Widow Jones received the stockings for Mercy from 
little Jane. 0, thought Rose, if I had but twopence, 
Neighbor Jones would buy me a set of knitting 
needles; but I dare not ask mother; she would think it 
all waste to have two sets, when I cannot use both 
at once. 0, if father would but come, he would give 


LITTLE ROSE. 


57 


mo twopence, and then mother would not mind, if 
father had given me the money for my own. 

Rose looked from the front door out into the snowy 
morning ; far into the darkness her bright eyes searched, 
but no father was in sight. Could she ask her mother? 
No; she dare not. Yet, perhaps, her mother would for 
once let her have another set, as she was going so soon 
back to school. But while she stood full of doubt, 
between hope and fear, she heard her mother’s quick 
voice say, “Well, good-day, neighbor;” and the back- 
door shut, and poor Rose’s hope was gone. 

William, and Rover, William’s dog, had just came in ; 
both were white with the falling snow, but Rose stooped 
down and threw her arms round Rover to hide her 
tears. William’s quick eye saw that his little sister was 
in trouble. “What are you telling Rover about, hey, 
Rose? Come, look up and tell me; there’s no good in 
hiding it all in Rover’s snowy ears ; and there’s nobody 
by but me.” 

“ 0, it’s nothing now, William,” replied Rose. 

“ What was it then ?” asked the kind brother. 

* It was only that I did so want a set of needles, and 
Ne ghbor Jones has just gone to the town, but they cost 
twopence ; and I was afraid to ask mother, because I 
have one set, but they are fast with father’s stockings; 
and mother said she would lend me hers when Ted’s 
socks are done. But I am afraid that won’t be in time 


58 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


for what I want before I go to school ; and father didn’t 
come in sight, though I looked for him all the time that 
Neighbor Jones stood at the door.” 

“ I should like to know why you could not have asked 
me,” said William. “ I should think I might have 
done as well as father for once, and better than Rover ; 
but never mind now, I dare say it will all come right in 
the end.” 

And Rose wiped away her tears with William’s red 
pocket-handkerchief, just as she heard her father shaking 
the snow from his feet outside the door. 

While Rose was sitting between her father and 
William at breakfast, a thought came into her mind ; 
she knew that Mercy had a set of needles, and that it 
was very seldom that poor Widow Jones could buy any 
worsted to put them in use; perhaps she might not 
have any use for them now, and if not, she knew that 
Mercy would lend them to her. So after dinner that 
day, Rose said: “Mother, it’s fine now; may I go 
and call on Mercy ; I have not seen her for a whole 
week.” 

“ Yes,” replied her mother, “ if you have a mind, only 
take care and keep out of the snow-drifts.” 

So off set Rose, with the eager step of hope and 
expectation. The sky was cloudless blue, and all the 
snow looked sparkling diamonds. Rose liked to feel it 
under her little feet; a,nd the ministering child left 


LITTLE ROSE. 


59 


the track of her footsteps in that pure, untrodden 
snow. 

Rose knocked at Widow Jones’s door, and Mercy 
said, “ Come in.” 

Rose opened the door, and there sat little Mercy in 
her grandmother’s old arm-chair, * with her feet in 
another chair, wrapped up in a thin, old blanket; 
a few coals were left close by her side to keep the 
little fire in ; a table with a cup and plate, from which 
she had taken her dinner, stood near her; on the 
table lay her little Bible ; her Hymn Book was in her 
hand. 

“ Why ! Mercy, are you ill ?” asked Rose, going up 
to her. 

“No, only my feet got worse with the chilblains. I 
have kept my bed nearly a week ; but grandmother’s 
gone to the town to-day, so Uncle Jem brought me 
down before she went, that I might not feel so lonesome 
with no one in the house.” 

“ I wish I had known it,” said Rose ; “ are they very 
bad?” 

“No, they are getting better now, and since I 
have been kept in doors, I have learned a whole 
chapter out of the Bible, and three short Psalms, 
and two hymns; and Miss Clifford came to see me, 
and then I said some of them to her ; and grandmother 
said that was as good as going to school. I have been 


60 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


thinking, perhaps Miss Clifford will come to-day ; it’s 
almost a week since she was here, and the weather has 
broken out so fine !” 

“ Do you really think Miss Clifford will come to- 
day ?” asked Rose. 

“ I seem to think she will,” replied little Mercy, 
“ only I don’t know ; but I have learned another Psalm, 
perfect every word, and a hymn too.” 

“Do you like going to the Sunday school very 
much?” asked Rose. 

“ Yes, that I do ! and so would any one if they did 
but once get into Miss Clifford’s class,” replied Mercy. 

“ I should like it, I am sure,” said Rose. 

Just then the girls caught a glimpse of Miss Clif- 
ford’s white pony passing the window, and the 
hearts of both the little girls beat quick as the lady 
entered. Miss Clifford spoke kindly to Rose as well 
as to Mercy, saying, as she made Rose sit down beside 
her, “ I am afraid I have stopped some pleasant talk.” 

“No, ma’am,” replied Mercy ; “Rose was only saying 
how she would like to go to the Sunday school.” 

“ Do you really wish to come to the Sunday school ?” 
asked Miss Clifford, looking at Rose. 

“ I go to a boarding-school, ma’am, and I am afraid 
mother would not let me,” replied Rose. 

“ What made you wish it ?” asked Miss Clifford ; 
“ come and tell me.” 









Page 61 . 











LITTLE ROSE. 61 

Rose came within the arm so kindly opened to re- 
ceive her, but she did not speak. 

“ If you could tell me why you wished it,” said Miss 
Clifford, “ perhaps I could find some other way to help 
you, if your mother objects to your coming to the 
Sunday school.” 

Rose answered in a low voice, “ Because I want to do 
as our minister at school tells everybody they must ; 
and I don’t know how.” 

“ What is it that your minister tells you to do ?” asked 
Miss Clifford. 

“ He says, everybody must come to Jesus, and I don’t 
know how,” Rose answered ; and the child’s large tear 
fell upon the hand that held her, and the tears of an- 
swering feeling gathered in Miss Clifford’s eyes. When 
Mercy saw the tears in Miss Clifford’s eyes, and on the 
cheek of Rose, she cried too, she knew not why except 
because she saw the tears of those she loved, and that 
alone is often cause enough for childhood’s weeping ; a 
purer, higher cause than some that after years too often 
offer. 

“ Does not your minister tell you how to come to 
Jesus ?” asked Miss Clifford. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Rose, “ because I can only 
remember a little of what he says.” 

“ Will you listen to me then, and try and understand, 
if I tell you?” Miss Clifford asked. 


62 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Rose looked up in the lady’s face, and that look was 
assurance enough. 

“ Who have you come to now, while you are standing 
here ?” asked Miss Clifford. 

“ To you,” answered Rose. 

“Yes, you have come to me; and you have been 
telling me what you want ; and I am going to give you, 
if I can, the knowledge that you tell me you want. 
Now, just as you have come close to me, and told me 
what you want, so you must come to the Lord Jesus 
and tell hijn. I hear you now, because I am near to 
you ; but Jesus is always near to you. He hears every 
word ; and whenever you speak to him, he stoops down 
and listens to all you say ; and he can teach you all you 
want to know, and give you all you ask him for. Do 
you pray to him ?” 

“I say, ‘Our Father who art in heaven,’” replied 
Rose : “ our governess said I ought : and sometimes I 
say other things, when I want them very much. Our 
minister said we might ask for all we wanted when we 
pray, only governess does not know when I do that.” 

“ Do you tell our Saviour that you want to come to 
n him ?” 

“No, I don’t know how.” 

“If I write you a short prayer, do you think you 
could read it?” 

“ O yes ; I can read writing a little.” 


LITTLE ROSE. 


63 


Miss Clifford opened her basket, in which she carried 
pen, ink, and paper, and wrote in a plain hand : 

“ 0 God, my heavenly Father, I ask thee to bow 
down thine ear and listen to my prayer. I am a little, 
sinful, helpless child ; and I want to come to Jesus, that 
I may be safe and happy forever. O lead me to Jesus 
my Saviour ! Let me come to him, that I may know 
and love him, and keep his commandments. Let me 
be washed from my sins in the precious blood of Jesus 
my Saviour. And give me the Spirit of Jesus to dwell in 
my heart, that I may be thy child, and live with thee 
forever. Thou hast said thou wilt do this, if we ask; 
and I ask thee to do it for me, 0 my heavenly Father, 
for the sake of my Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. 
Amen.” 

Miss Clifford heard Rose read the prayer, then folded 
it up, and gave it to her ; making her sit down by her 
while she talked to Mercy. After a little conversation, 
Miss Clifford heard Mercy repeat her Psalm, which was 
said without one mistake. Then Mercy repeated her 
hymn, and Rose thought, as she listened, that certainly 
the hymn would please her father. After this, Miss 
Clifford took leave of the children, saying to Rose, “ I 
have a class of farmers’ daughters every Monday after- 
noon, at three o’clock, in my home. You are younger 
than any there, but if you would like to come, and 
your mother has no objection, I shall be very happy 


64 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

to receive you. Do you think you would like to 
come ?” 

“ 0 yes, ma’am, very much,” said Rose, with bright- 
ening color. 

“ Perhaps you would like me best to ask your mothei 
about it ?” 

“ Yes, if you please, ma’am.” 

“ Then I will ride round that way to-day, so you will 
not be kept long in suspense,” said Miss Clifford, smil- 
ing at the eager look on the face of Rose; and then, 
with her kind “ Good-by !” to both children, the lady’ 
mounted her white pony, and was soon far away. 

“ IIow glad I am that Miss Clifford did come,” said 
Mercy ; “ I thought she would !” 

“ How very kind she is,” said Rose. “ If mother will 
but let me go, how glad I shall be! How I wish I 
knew that piece of poetry you said, Mercy.” 

“ It’s a hymn,” replied Mercy ; “ have you not got a 
book like mine ?” 

“ No, I wish I had ; I learned some pieces of poetry 
at our school; but father says they are too fine for him, 
and I dare not try mother. But I think father would 
like what you said. Is it very hard to learn ?” 

“No, it is not hard at all. Shall I lend you my 
book for a little while? Only I must learn another be- 
fore Miss Clifford comes again.” 

“ If you will let me have it,” said Rose, “ I will try 


LITTLE ROSE. 


65 


and learn it to-morrow, and then you shall be sure to 
have it back again.” 

So Mercy lent her little treasure Hymn Book. Rose 
put it safe in her pocket ; then tucking the folded prayer 
down deep into her bosom, she remembered how long 
she had stayed. She had quite forgotten the needles, 
and no wonder ; there had been enough in that call on 
Mercy to fill her young heart. And now, seeing the fire 
almost out, she stooped down to put on the shovel of 
coals that stood beside it. Mercy guessed her intention, 
and exclaimed : 

“O, no, not all those, only one or two, just to keep 
it in till grandmother comes. That is all the coal 
there is, and there won’t be any warmth left for grand- 
mother.” 

“ But, Mercy, you will be froze ; you look as cold as 
the snow now.” 

“ That is only because the door stands open ; it goes 
so bad, it won’t shut faom outside, except by those 
that know how to humor it.” 

“ Hot shut from outside !” said Rose ; “ why don’t 
you have a new one ?” 

“ That is the new door,” replied Mercy : “ the old 
one was all to pieces ; grandmother went backward and 
forward to Steward Jacobs about it till she gave up 
hope ; and then she dreaded the winter so bad, with 
only that old door to keep it out, that she went all that 


60 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


way to Squire Lofft himself. She only saw the ladies, 
hut they came over in their carriage, and looked at the 
door. Then they went to Steward Jacobs and gave the 
order, and Steward Jacobs was angered to think grand- 
mother should have been to Squire Lofft, and the door 
was made of green wood, and it shrank all round, and 
now there is no keeping warm anyhow. But Miss 
Clifford has found it out, and she says there are more 
ways than one of setting that right.” 

“ What will she do ?” asked Rose. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Mercy ; “ but grandmother 
says that now it’s once in Miss Clifford’s hands it is sure 
to come out right.” 

“ Then you won’t be cold long,” said Rose earnestly, 
forgetting all but the slight shiver of little Mercy. “ I’ll 
see if I can’t make the door shut outside for me ! Only 
I wish I had some of our logs, just enough to make 
up the fire fit to be seen. But I must go now, or mother 
will scold. Come now, dooi*you shall shut for me.” 

Rose gave a hard pull, but back again went the door ; 
then a gentle pullf but the moment she let go it flew 
open. “Was there ever such a door!” said Rose in 
despair. 

“Never mind,” said little Mercy from within, “ never 
mind trying it any more. There’s nobody but grand- 
mother and Uncle Jem can shut it from outside.” But 
in the heat of her displeasure with the door, and the 


LITTLE ROSE. 


07 


man who had made it, and the distress at leaving the 
helpless little Mercy exposed to the cold evening air, 
Rose pulled and shook the door, but pulled and shook 
in vain. Horse’s feet came down the lane, but Rose 
was still contending with the door, and did not hear 
them. It was William on Black Beauty. 

“Hey day, little miss! are you breaking into Neigh- 
bor Jones’s while she is away ? She will soon be home 
to find you out.” * 

“ 0, William !” said Rose, ready to cry with her 
vain efforts ; “ I am so glad it is you ! There is poor 
Mercy, she can’t put her feet to the ground with the 
chilblains, and not a bit of warmth in the fire, and I 
can’t shut the door.” 

“ It’s no more use to lose patience with a door, than 
it is with a donkey,” said William, getting down from 
his horse. 

“ O, do try 7 to shut it !” said Rose ; “ and speak to 
poor Mercy first.” 

“ Well, Mercy,” said William, going in ; “ why I 
guess you could not go dropping wheat now. Poor 
thing ! and is that all the fire you can give new-year’s 
day ?” 

“ No, I have some coals, but I am keeping them till 
grandmother comes in.” 

“ Let me see them. Well, to be sure, they would 
about fill the sugar-basin ! I left Jem riving wood hard 
b 


68 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


enough to-day, and he shall feel a little of the weight of 
it home before long; so don’t save up that poor hand- 
ful ; there, it is all gone ! That’s the first coal I have 
put on Neighbor Jones’s fire ; and I think I have 
known her years enough to have done it sooner. Now 
for the door. Well, ’tis a fashion of fitting, to be sure ! 
I fancy he that made it would learn to work better, if 
he had just one night behind it in this January 
weather! A bit of string is the only thing that will 
do it.” 

William took from his pocket a ball of string ; slipping 
the string round the latch within, he drew the door 
quite close, and tied the string tight round the hook 
that fastened back the shutter without. Then lifting 
Rose on Black Beauty, he gave her the rein. The lit- 
tle maiden, seated sideways on her brother’s saddle, 
well at ease, pondered on past events, and felt to see 
that her folded paper was quite safe, while William kept 
even pace by her side. 

Rose was soon seated before the warm wood fire, 
making the toast for tea, and wondering how William 
would manage about getting some logs for Mercy’s fire, 
when William came into the kitchen, and said, “ Rose, 
look here !” 

Rose ran to his side at the window ; there, over the 
cold snow, which lay white beneath the darkness, Jem 
was making his way home from the farm, with one of 


LITTLE ROSE. 69 

tlie deep farm-baskets on his shoulder piled up with 
logs of wood. 

“Is all that for Neighbor Jones?” asked Rose, her 
face beaming with delight. 

“ Yes, that it is,” replied William. “ It was father 
piled it up like that ; I found him, and I told him how 
the poor thing sat shivering there, and he said he 
should never forgive himself if that orphan child perish- 
ed with cold. I will say it is a pleasant thing to see 
father give ! I told him about the state of things I had 
found, and he went at once to Jem and said, ‘I suppose 
you would not be much against carrying half a dozen 
of those logs home with you to-night?’ Jem shook his 
head with a smile. He never thought father was in 
earnest, but father had piled up the basket with his own 
hands in no time, and then he set it, the next minute, 
on Jem’s shoulder, and said, ‘There, now, make the best 
of your way home, and tell your good mother I would 
give any lad on my farm such a load as that is, if I 
could find any to trust as I can her son !’ and then 
father was off, as he always is when he thinks he i3 
done.” 

Rose listened, and as she listened she slipped her 
hand into her brother’s. William felt this silent ex- 
pression of the new-formed link between them. He 
had met his little sister in her heart’s young sympathy ; 
she felt she could turn to and depend on his aid, and it 


70 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


seemed to her he stood nearest to her in the new world 
of feeling and effort her trembling steps had entered. 

Jem was out of sight, but Rose still watched from the 
window, as if she thought to see the dying embers on 
Mercy’s cold hearth blaze up around the new-year’s logs. 
William still stood by his little sister, and felt and shared 
her joy. The flickering fire-light showed the elder and 
the younger face, both beaming with the glow of blessed 
charity. 

“ Where’s Jem ?” asked Mrs. Smith, in a loud voice : 
“ let him know I want him before he’s off to-night.” 

“ He is off already, mother,” said William ; “ what do 
you want ?” 

“ How vexing !” exclaimed Mrs. Smith ; “ that is al- 
ways the way, people are off just when you want them 
most ! Here I had had a little tea put up, all ready for 
him to take home to his mother; for how she will toil 
through the lanes in this deep snow I can’t think.” 

“Never mind, mother,” said William ; “ I’ll run after 
him. Don’t wait tea for me if father comes in.” 

William’s hat was on„and away he ran; and Rose 
still stood at the window, watching her brother through 
the darkness, by the light of the snow. 

“ Tell Mercy to make a right hot cup, and let her 
grandmother go warm to rest,” shouted Mrs. Smith 
after William. 

“ Yes, mother,” William shouted back, as he ran. 


LITTLE ROSE. 


71 


“ Ah !” thought little Rose, “ what would have been 
the use of mother sending that message if William and 
I had not seen to the fire ?” 

William overtook Jem almost at the cottage door, 
and delivering the tea and the message, he returned to 
the farm. 

Jem, with thankful heart, stowed away the wood, 
made up the fire, set little Mercy carefully in another 
chair, that his mother’s might look ready for her to sit 
down in at once; set out the frugal meal, put on the 
tea-kettle, and then sitting down upon the stool, which 
was his usual seat, took little Mercy’s feet carefully on 
his knees, that, as he said, they might feel a bit of com- 
fort from the fire too. 

Meanwhile poor Widow Jones was toiling along the 
snowy lanes. Turning, at last, the longed-for corner, 
she suddenly caught sight of the ruddy glow cast by the 
blazing wood fire through the large casement on the 
snow. 

“ And what’s the matter now ?” said Widow Jones to 
herself, as she hastened on with quicker steps and beat- 
ing heart ; “ sure the child has not set herself afire, and 
the old place too !” The thought of a warm, glowing 
hearth having been kindled up was too great an im- 
probability to enter Widow Jones’s mind. 

At last her hand was on the latch, and in a moment 
more she saw the picture of comfort. — the two she loved 


72 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


more than life, the logs of burning wood, the arm-chair 
waiting for her, and the little supper-table set ready ! 

“ There’s mother !” said Jem ; and, starting up, he 
laid little Mercy’s feet gently upon the stool where he 
had been nursing them, and took his mother’s old um- 
brella and basket from her hand. 

Widow Jones, overcome with fatigue, exhaustion, and 
surprise, sank down into her arm-chair, while Jem 
poured some boiling water on the tea, and set the tea-pot 
on the side of the burning log to draw ; and, cutting off 
a piece of bread, he knelt down before the fire to make 
some toast for his mother. 

“ Well, I never thought to find the like of this !” said 
Widow Jones at last. “ Where in the world did you 
manage to get fire-wood and tea ?” 

“ That’s all master and mistress’s goodness,” replied 
Jem ; “ but never mind that, mother, till you have taken 
a sip of the tea, and got a little life into you.” 

But Widow Jones could not wait : “ Bless them for 
it !” she said, fervently ; and then, taking up her basket 
from the table where Jem had set it down, she went on 
to say, in a livelier tone, “ Here, Mercy, child, I have a 
rare surprise for you. If you are not to run about with 
warm feet at last, I don’t know who is : look you here !” 
And pair after pair of warm stockings, all mended and 
folded, and given by the hand of little Jane, were piled 
up on Widow Jones’s knee. 


LITTLE ROSE. 


73 


“ O, granny ! what, all for me ?” said Mercy, as she 
stretched out both hands to receive one pair, and feel 
their warmth. And then, while she unfolded pair after 
pair, Widow Jones told the history of all. 

Jem opened both his eyes and mouth to listen, say- 
ing, as his mother ended, “ Why, the world is warm all 
over to-day ; out here in the country, and down there 
in the town 1” 

But the tea in the little stone pot was drawn, and the 
toast to eat with it had long been made; so Widow 
Jones, and her son Jem, and her little granddaughter, 
began, with thankful hearts and hungry appetites, to 
partake of their simple fare. 

At the farm, Mr. Smith had come in by the back 
door, and William returned by the front, and they all 
sat down to tea. 

“ What’s this ?” said Rose, as she took a long, thin 
parcel from under her plate. 

“ You had better look and see,” said William ; “it 
seems you have the best right to it.” 

“ There is no direction upon it,” said Rose. “ Mother, 
shall I open it?” 

“ Well, I suppose there is not much use in keeping it 
shut,” replied Mrs. Smith. 

Rose opened it slowly and carefully : “ 0, my needles ! 
my needles !” she exclaimed. “ Mother, was it you ? 
Did you tell Neighbor Jones ?” 


74 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Tell Neighbor Jones ! No. What should I have 
to tell her ?” 

“ You had better ask Rover,” whispered William ; 
“ he knows more about it than mother.” 

Rose laughed at this : “ 0, William, how glad I am ! 
Did you tell Neighbor Jones?” 

“ No, not I. You seem to think no one has the sense 
to buy a set of needles but Neighbor Jones.” 

“ You did not go after them yourself, did you ?” asked 
Rose. 

“ You had better ask Rover about it,” replied Wil- 
liam ; “ he has the most right to answer, seeing you 
told him first in the morning.” 

So Rose was provided with her set of needles, four 
bright steel needles ; and to morrow she could begin 
little Johnnie’s socks. 

Rose had now only one anxiety, and that one was, to 
know whether her mothei had given leave for her to go 
up to Miss Clifford’s class of farmers’ daughters, at the 
Hall. But she could not venture to ask. So she took 
the long stocking she was knitting for her father, and 
sat down on her stool, in the chimney corner, to her 
evening’s work. 

William went out to see after the cattle, Mr. Smith 
sat down to rest by the fire, in his old-fashioned arm- 
chair, Mrs. Smith took her knitting at the table, Joe sat 
by the same table, deeply occupied with a book of 


LITTLE ROSE. 


15 


travels he had lately met with, and Samson sat down in 
the opposite chimney corner to Rose: little Ted was 
gone to rest for the night. 

At last Mr. Smith said, “ Did I see Miss Clifford cross 
the drift this afternoon ?” 

“ She was there,” replied Mrs. Smith, 11 whether you 
saw her or not.” 

“ She did not call, I suppose, did she ?” again in- 
quired Mr. Smith. 

Rose looked up, unable to knit another stitch. 

“ Yes, that she did,” replied Mrs. Smith : “ she came 
to ask Rose to a class of farmers’ daughters, held at the 
Hall. I told her that I thanked her all the same, but I 
always had kept myself to myself, and I meant that 
Rose should do the same.” 

“ Must not I go then, mother ?” asked Rose. 

“ No, child ; I told Miss Clifford so, and she does not 
expect it now.” 

Rose laid down her knitting, and hiding her face in 
her pinafore, cried and sobbed. 

Mr. Smith did not say a word, but he got up, took 
his hat, and went out for his last round in the farm- 
yard, unable to bear the sight of the child’s grief, which 
he felt he could not comfort. Mrs. Smith knitted on, 
and Rose went on crying, while Samson spread out both 
his hands nearer and nearer over the fire, as if he did 
not quite know what he was doing. 


Y6 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ There, child, leave off crying ; do !” at last said Mrs. 
Smith. “ What’s the use of taking on so because you 
cannot go up to the Hall ? What’s the use of a board- 
ing-school, I should like to know, if you have not lessons 
enough there, without going up to the Hall after them ?” 
But poor Rose was in no readiness to explain any feel- 
ing just then to her mother, she only cried on. 

“Now, Rose, leave off crying directly!” said her 
mother. Rose tried to keep back her tears, and went 
on slowly with her knitting; meanwhile, Samson had 
slipped out, and in a few minutes William came in arid 
took Samson’s place in the opposite chimney-corner to 
Rose ; he stretched out his wet feet and cold hands to 
the fire, and said in a low tone, “ Rose, I have a secret 
to tell you,” but poor Rose did not look up. 

“ 0, 1 see how it is,” said William ; “ there is nobody 
but Rover will do; you began with him this morning, 
and by what I can see you mean to end the same. 
Here, Rover, go to Rose, she has something to tell you. 
I guess she is for sending poor Neighbor Jones off for 
some worsted to the town, but she will tell you all about 
it ; go, sir, go.” 

Rover looked up at his master, wagging his tail, 
and then went and looked up at Rose, as if by way of 
inquiry. “0 William, how can you talk so?” said 
Rose, too full of sorrow still to laugh ; “ I don’t want you, 
Rover ; go away.” 


LITTLE ROSE. 


77 


Poor little Rose ! her day had begun with tears, and 
for a while it seemed likely to end with the same. And 
so it often is, that when we try to walk in the narrow 
way that leadeth to everlasting life, we find that tears 
are there as well as smiles; but the tears in that narrow 
way water its fair flowers, and make them grow the 
faster. After a while, Mr. Smith came in again ; Rose 
knew it was almost her bedtime, and she thought it 
would be pleasant just to hear what William’s secret 
was, so she went nearer to him and said, “ What secret 
do you know, William V* 

“ Why,” said William, “ I have thought of a way to 
keep up the fire on Neighbor Jones’s hearth all this whole 
winter !” 

“ O, Will, have you ? what is it ?” 

“ Why, it was only this morning that father was ask- 
ing me who he should give a job of hedging and ditch- 
ing to. I said then, ‘ We had better think who we can 
best spare to take it;’ but I have been thinking this 
evening, that it would be as well to consider who stands 
most in need of it, and I am pretty sure that will be 
Jem; and then he will have all the wood he cuts away, 
and that will go far to keep a fire on their hearth all the 
winter.” 

“ Do you think father is sure to let him have it V 1 
asked Rose. 

“ Yes, I am sure he will, if I say only two words 


78 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


about it. Jem has not been put to it before, but I 
never saw the thing yet that he did not finish off as 
well as a man, and better than many men, because his 
mind is always in the thing he is after.” 

So little Rose went to her pillow with thoughts of 
Jem hedging and ditching, and the blazing fire kept up 
on Widow Jones’s hearth, and sympathy’s warm light 
drank up the mist of sadness, and, having offered up 
the lady’s prayer, she laid down her head and was soon 


LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 


79 


CHAPTER V. 

LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 

So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God. 
— Romans x, 17. 

The next morning Rose thought again of Miss Clif- 
ford, and her lost hope of going to the class at the Hall. 
She sighed once or twice while she was dressing ; but 
she had her little treasured prayer, and that comforted 
her. She had also her needles, and Mercy’s Hymn Book, 
from which to learn the hymn that she thought would 
please her father. So she ran down stairs with a cheer- 
ful step, and was soon engaged preparing the break- 
fast. 

After breakfast, the boys helped clear the table ; Mrs. 
Smith went off to the dairy ; and Rose began her morn- 
ing’s work. First she made up the fire ; then she 
washed the cups and saucers, mugs and plates, from 
the breakfast-table, and put them away ; after this, she 
swept up the farm-house kitchen, the room they always 
occupied ; and then, with her little can of wheat, went 
out to feed the fowls. After this, Rose went with her 


80 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


mother to set the upper rooms in order; and then, for 
the most part, her household work was done. On 
churning days, and baking days, and washing days, and 
ironing days, there was more to be accomplished, and 
sometimes Rose was busy with her mother nearly the 
whole day. But this was neither churning, nor baking, 
nor washing, nor ironing day, and Rose had done all, and 
put on her clean pinafore, by a little after eleven o’clock. 

And now her time was her own to employ as she 
liked, and she might begin her socks. But she must 
ask her mother for the promised worsted; and, she 
thought, perhaps her mother might be angry with her 
still, for crying the night before. Yet if she did not ask, 
she could not begin poor little Johnnie’s socks. Had 
she not better learn her hymn out of Mercy’s book, and 
then she need not ask her mother at present? Yes, but 
Rose knew that when she had set her sock on, and 
counted the stitches, she could knit and learn too ; and 
poor Johnnie had no socks to his feet: so she went to 
her mother, and asked, “Mother, may I have that 
worsted for Johnnie Lambert’s socks now ?” 

Mrs. Smith had looked many times at her little 
daughter. She had seen her pale with the last night’s 
crying, yet busy all the morning, a little grave, but 
pleasant still in all she did or said. She remembered 
how the child had wished she could learn of Miss 
Clifford, and she began to think whether she had done 


LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 


81 


right in refusing. Mrs. Smith never liked to give up 
her own way ; and she had yet to learn, that “ a man’s 
pride shall bring him low, while honor shall uphold the 
humble in spirit but when her little girl asked in fear 
and trembling for the worsted, Mrs. Smith replied: 
“Yes, child, to be sure, didn’t I tell you you might? 
it’s in the drawer ; you may take what you want, and 
wind it at once.” 

“ May I make two pair then, mother ?” asked Rose, 
gathering courage. 

“Yes, to be sure, if you make one; one pair isn’t 
much use alone.” 

So Rose ran off for her worsted. She knew exactly 
the right size, and how many stitches to set on. She 
opened Mercy’s little Hymn Book on the chimney-corner, 
hung the skein on the back of her father’s arm-chair, 
and was just beginning to wind her worsted and learn 
her hymn, when her father passed the window and 
came in at the front door. He took off his great coat and 
hat, all white with the fresh falling snow, and came in 
for a rest and a warm. 

“Well, little girl, busy as possible; that’s all right; 
never mind being tired with work, so long as you are 
never tired with idleness. Work well and rest well, is 
my maxim ; but idle work and idle rest, I should like 
to know what’s the good they ever did to anybody. 
What are you after now ?” 


82 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“0, father, you can hold my worsted while I wind; 
it gets tangled up on the chair. I am going to 
make some socks for poor little Johnnie Lambert; he 
has not a bit of sock to his foot ; mother says I may 
make him two pair.” 

“That won’t do you, nor mother, nor Johnnie 
Lambert any harm, I guess. What book have you 
got open there ? Are you so hard put to it for time 
that you must do two things at once? that is not, for 
the most part, the best way.” 

“No, father, but that is Mercy’s book; she lent it to 
me to learn a hymn, and she wants the book; so 
I told her I would learn it to-day, if I could, and take 
it back to her.” 

“ And have not you books enough without Mercy’s ? 
I should have thought you might. I know I paid a 
large bill this last half year for books and such like 
things, and yet it seems you have to come to Mercy 
after jail, whose schooling never cost a single bit of 
gold; that is what comes of boarding-school expenses, 
I see.” 

“No, father; but what I learn at school are pieces 
of poetry, that are not any use at home, because you 
say they are too fine for you ; so I thought I would 
just learn such a beautiful hymn, that Mercy said out 
of her book to Miss Clifford, and see if jou did 
not like that ; only you hear it, father.” Rose took up 


LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 


83 


the book, and, standing at her father’s knee, she read 
the hymn beginning with, 

“By cool Siloam’s shady rill, 

How sweet the lily grows ! 

How sweet the breath beneath the hill 
Of Sharon’s dewy rose l” 

The father listened, then took the book and said, 
“ Let me see it and, looking at the first verse, read 
aloud the words, “Of Sharon’s dewy rose!” “That was 
what your grandmother would often speak about when 
any one took notice of her name.” 

“ I know, father, for our minister preached about 
that; and governess always makes us learn the text 
when we come home. It’s in the Bible, 4 1 am the rose 
of Sharon, and the lily of the valley ;’ and our minister 
said it meant our Saviour.” 

“ 0, child, how like you are to my mother ! I never 
knew that was in the Bible, though I have heard her 
speak about it so often. I suppose I did not take so 
much notice then. She would have been pleased enough, 
if I had thought about some of her words then as I do 
now. I would give anything to have you like her. Do 
you think you could find where that is in the Bible, 
about the Rose of Sharon V 

“ No, father, I can’t tell where to find anything in the 
Bible, because I have not got one. Mercy has one of 
her own.” 


84 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ What, then, did I pay that bill of books for, if you 
have not so much as got a Bible?” 

“ I did ask our governess, father, but s]je said it was 
not her business to get me a Bible ; that if I wanted one, 
I must ask you for that, and I thought I would before 
I went to school again.” 

“Sure enough, you shall have one. I don’t know that 
my mother ever had any books except her Bible and 
her Prayer Book, and she had learning enough to 
make her one of the best of women ; and how should 
you ever be like her, if you have not so much as 
a Bible to look into ! I will see to it next market day ; 
and now I must be off again.” 

And the happy child sat down to her knitting and 
her hymn; but how often did she cease to murmur the 
sweet words, while her thoughts were gone to her prom- 
ised Bible. 

“ There, child,” said her mother, coming in with two 
pair of old socks in her hand, “ if you take my advice 
you will mend up those old soft socks first for Widow 
Lambert’s boy. They won’t be so stiff to his feet; if 
they are as bad as you say, he would hardly bear the 
new ones for a time yet.” 

“ 0 yes, mother, and then if I mend them on this 
snowy day, I can take them to-morrow.” 

So when dinner was over, and cleared away, Rose 
still went on darning, and learning till the light ot 


LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 


85 


the short day began to fade, and it was time to set 
the tea. 

Rose whispered to William in the evening, “ What 
did father say about Jem ?” 

“ O, it’s all right enough,” replied William ; “ Jem’s to 
begin to-morrow, and he looks as great as a prince 
about it. I called in this morning to hear how Neighbor 
Jones was, after her walk in the snow. Mercy was on 
her feet; Miss Mansfield had sent her some warm 
stockings, that had set her up again. Jem had been 
in to tell his mother the news about his getting the 
hedging and ditching. She was very thankful, and said 
she knew it was all that blessed child’s doing, who would 
not rest while the widow and the orphan were cold!” 

“ Who did she mean, Will ?” . 

“ Why you, to be sure !” 

“ But it was not I. It was you, Will, that did that.” 

“No, Rose, I am afraid I should never have thought 
of it, had it not been for your taking on so about Mer- 
cy’s fire. But now we have begun, ’tis likely to go on 
well for them, I hope.” 

The next was a bright winter’s day, the heavens were 
clear, and all the earth looked white and beautiful. 
Within the house Rose was as busy as a bee among the 
flowers of spring. This was baking morning. Rose 
peeled apples for pies and turnovers, and filled little 
round tartlets with jam. No play-time, no work for 


86 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Johnnie Lambert that morning, but Rose had finished 
darning the soft socks the day before. When baking 
was over, her mother gave her two large rosy apples, 
but she slipped them both into her pocket, one for 
Mercy, and one for little Johnnie Lambert. 

After dinner, Rose had her mother’s leave to take 
the socks she had mended to Johnnie Lambert. “ Are 
you going anywhere else, child ?” asked her mother. 

“ Only to take Mercy back her Hymn Book, mother.” 

“ I thought it was likely you were going there. You 
may take her one of those apple turnovers you made 
this morning, if you have a mind. I dare say she gets 
little more than bread, and not too much of that. It 
must be a hard matter for the old woman to make out 
this winter-time.” 

Rose lifted her beaming faee to her mother, who 
stuffed turnover and socks into a basket, and off set the 
ministering child, pressing with light step the soft and 
sparkling snow. 

First to Johnnie Lambert’s, unaer the hill. His 
mother was seated at work, patching up Johnnie’s coat, 
while the poor little fellow was wrapped up in her cloak 
by the fire. Rose found ready entrance. “ Look, 
Johnnie, see ! I have brought you two pair of soft, 
warm socks ; won’t you soon run about now ?” 

“ Well, I am sure ! who would have thought of see-, 
ing socks for you, Johnnie 3” said his mother. 



Pa*<? 90 











* 














• t 















•• 






t 




LITTLE EOSE AT HOME. 


87 


“ I am knitting him new ones, and they will be done 
before I go to school,” said Rose. “ And there’s an 
apple for you, Johnnie!” 

“ Look, mother, look !” said little Johnnie, who un- 
derstood the pleasure of an apple more than the com- 
fort of warm socks, to which his little feet had been 
strangers quite long enough for him to forget them. 
Many a sweet golden apple had Rose gathered from 
their orchard-trees, but never one before had given her 
so much pleasure as this, while she looked at the little 
chilblain prisoner, wrapped up in his mother’s cloak, 
his face all one glad smile at this autumn-treasure come 
in winter’s depth to cheer him. 

Then on went the happy child, lightly along the 
snowy lanes as the bird that glides over the summer 
lawn, her basket in her hand, her little shawl pinned 
round her, and her face glowing with the healthful 
breath of the frosty air, up the hill-side, then along the 
winding lane, to Widow Jones’s door. At the door she 
stood still in amazement. It was new all over, and 
fitted so close that not one cold blast of wind could pos- 
sibly make its way in, to get itself a warm at the win- 
ter fire. At last Rose knocked with some hesitation, 
but the new door was quickly opened and Mercy stood 
before her. 

“ Why, Mercy, how quick you have got a new door ! 
Did Miss Clifford do that?” 


88 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“Yes, that she did ; it’s hardly been up an hour yet, 
and it goes as well as a door can go ; and grandmother’s 
out, and she does not know a word about it, and I have 
had nobody to tell. I am so glad you’re come ! Grand- 
mother will be so surprised, she won’t know the place ; 
just you come and feel how warm it is by the fire now; 
and look here, only look !” and Mercy’s little hand drew 
out to view a dark crimson curtain, hung by rings on a 
strong cord, behind Widow Jones’s old arm-chair, be- 
tween the fire and the back-door. Rose looked in 
silent admiration from the new door to the thick shelt- 
ering curtain, then back again to the new door. 

“But Miss Clifford could not bring the door!” said 
Rose, unable still to take the mystery in. 

“ O no, I will tell you all about it. I was sitting here 
all alone, so warm on one side by the fire you made us, 
and so cold the other, for the wind drove in piercing; 
and I heard a great lumbering outside. I went to look, 
and there was Carpenter Mason, with his man and cart, 
and this new door. He said he had heard that there was 
some little fault about the other, and so he had brought a 
new one. While he was doing it Miss Clifford came, 
and Carpenter Mason took great notice of the least 
word she said ; and she asked him to drive those two 
big hooks into the wall. He took a deal of pains, and 
said he had made them both fast in a beam. That 
beautiful curtain was rolled up on the groom’s saddle, 


LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 


89 


and Carpenter Mason hung it up, and drew it himself 
behind grandmother’s chair. When he was gone Miss 
Clifford said that I might tell grandmother that the cur- 
tain came from her room, where some new ones had been 
put up. I am sure I can’t think what grandmother and 
Uncle Jem will say when they come home! The 
draft from that back-door used to blow the candle-flame 
all on one side, so that it was no use to try and burn 
one on windy evenings ; but now, what with the new 
door, and the curtain, and the warm fire, we shall not 
know how to be comfortable enough.” 

After a little more admiration and conversation, Rose 
opened her basket, and said, “ See what mother has sent 
you! We baked to-day, and I made that turnover, and 
I brought you that big apple ! Shall we set the table 
together ?” 

Mercy willingly agreed, and the small round table 
was set out to the best effect, the turnover in the middle. 
Then Mercy also agreed that Rose should put on anoth- 
er log, to make a real good fire for once ; and Rose filled 
the kettle, and hung it over the fire to boil, for little 
Mercy was still lajne. Then the children looked around 
on all with entire satisfaction, and, saying “gtfod-by” 
to each other, Mercy waited within, in glad expectation 
of the happy surprise of her grandmother and Uncle 
Jem ; while Rose ran swiftly home, to tell them all the 
welcome tidings of the new door and the warm curtain. 


90 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


The next day Farmer Smith, and his son William, 
went off to the market. All day long Rose thought up- 
on her promised Bible. The hour for her father’s re- 
turn came ; but Rose could not watch, she must prepare 
the tea and make the toast: but presently she heard his 
cheerful voice in the back kitchen, saying, “Well, wife, 
it’s cold enough !” and then his hat was hung on the 
peg ia the passage, and the whip set down in the corner 
by the hat, and his next step was in at the kitchen door ; 
down went the toast, and Rose was at her father’s side. 

“Well, my little girl,” said her father, with his kind- 
est smile, “all safe and right, Chestnut, and William, 
and father, and Bible and all!” and he drew the pre- 
cious book from his inside pocket, and placed it in the 
hands of his child. Rose took it with trembling joy ; the 
gilt edges of its leaves all sparkled in the fire-light blaze. 

“ O, father ! is this mine ?” she asked. 

“Yes, tp £6 sure it is,” said her father; and then, lay- 
ing his hand upon her head, he said in the solemn tone 
of prayer, “My mother’s God give thee his blessing 
with it,” 

The past excitement of hope through the day, and 
now her hope fulfilled, and the voice of prayer, heard for 
the first time by Rose from her father’s lips ; prayer of 
which her minister at school had said so much; all these 
mingled feelings overcame the little girl. She threw 
her arms round her father’s neck and sobbed. He 


LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 


91 


pressed her to his heart, and the first tear he had shed 
since he had wept for his mother, fell on the head of his 
child. 

Rose heard her mother’s step, and at the sound her 
arras unclasped from her father’s neck. She folded up 
her precious Bible, and sat down again to finish the 
toast. William smiled a knowing smile at her when he 
came in, and whispered, “ It was I who helped father to 
choose such a beauty of a book !” 

But it was not its purple cover, it was not its gilt 
edges, that had made the hand of little Rose tremble 
with her joy. Ho, it was that she held at last her own 
Bible ; the book from which she had heard the minister 
preach such sweet words, words that had already taught 
her to know and love her Saviour. Before tea, Rose 
showed her treasure to her mother, who said, she hoped 
Rose was not going to take such a book as that to be 
worn shabby at school. But her father replied, that he 
bought it for her to have always with her ; for that, he 
believed, was the use of a Bible. So Mrs. Smith said 
no more, and Rose, relieved from all apprehension of 
separation, carried her treasure up with her that night 
to bed. 

The next day was Sunday, and after breakfast, while 
Mrs. Smith was still busy in the back kitchen, Rose sat 
down on her father’s knee by the fire. She had been 
thinking of how her father had said, when he gave her 


92 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the Bible, “ My mother’s God give thee his blessing !” 
and now, putting her arm round his neck, she asked, 
“Father, why do you say, My mother’s God? is not God 
your God ?” 

“I don’t know, Rose,” replied her father. 

“Then, father, won’t you ask God to be your God? 
Our minister says, that God will do all good things that 
we ask him for ; and I know it is so, because I asked 
him that mother might let me do something to help 
others, as our minister said we should, and then mother 
did. And I asked that I might have a Bible of my 
own, and now I have. So won’t you ask, father ?” 

“ Yes, Rose, I hope I shall. I don’t feel comfortable 
never reading the Bible with you children. I should 
like to have family prayers, as my mother used, but I 
don’t know what has become of the book of prayers she 
used. I am afraid it’s altogether lost ; and our minister 
here is not one that you can speak to about that sort of 
thing, for he has never spoken a word to me about it 
himself.” 

“0, but, father, our minister at school says that we 
may pray to God in words from our own hearts; and I 
tried, and I found it was right.” 

“Well, Rose, I don’t know, for I have not tried it 
yet; but I do know it’s the thing that ought to be done, 
and I will talk to your mother; for there is nothing like 
to-day. My mother used to say, ‘ To-day, William, not 


LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 


93 


to-morrow !’ I have found it a good rule for this world, 
and it is not likely to be worse for the next.” 

“No, father, to-day must be right, for that is what we 
say every Sunday in the Psalm at church, ‘To-day if ye 
will hear His voice, harden not your hearts!’” # 

As they walked to the church that morning, their 
children being on before, Mr. Smith said to his wife, 
“Do you know where my mother’s Bible is?” 

“Yes, to be sure, I locked it up to keep it safe from 
the children.” 

“I wish you would look it out then. I feel I have 
been very wrong to neglect it so. A locked-up Bible is 
a bad witness against me. I should wish we should 
read it every day with the children; have family prayers 
I mean, morning and evening, as they do at the Hall, 
for I know there is but one way, alike for all.” 

“Well, I think it was a pity you did not consider of 
it from the first. I never can see the use of changes ; 
it’s nothing more than saying, We have been wrong all 
along before.” 

“And so we have, wife, and all the shame lies in the 
wrong thing, not in trying to do the right. Are we not 
always telling our people that they must make a change, 
and do better by us? And if they never see us take a 
step in the good way, they may well think, what’s the 
need for them to change? for you may be sure they are 
welj aware we are not all we ought to be yet; but if 


94 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


they see us doing better than before, may be they will 
think it time to begin to consider their own ways before 
it be too late.” 

“Well, I am sure I don’t understand it, so you must 
do a£*you please ; that is all I have to say.” 

That afternoon, when Mr. Smith went into his little 
parlor, his mother’s Bible had been laid, by his wife, on 
the table. He took it in his hand; the lamp that had 
lighted her steps to the kingdom of heaven ; he opened 
it; he saw the well-worn leaves, he could not read the 
words, for his eyes were dim with tears; but kneeling 
down, he took it for his own, his lamp in life, his guide 
to heaven. 

That evening, when they were all assembled, Farmer 
Smith sent Rose to the parlor to fetch her grandmother’s 
Bible. He took it from her hands and said, “ My boys, 
you don’t know this Bible, but I know it well. It was 
your grandmother’s, and it has been my sin that you 
have not known it as long as you have known anything. 
It guided your grandmother to heaven ; she never 
looked on anything as she looked on this book. I have 
heard her talk to it and say, ‘ My blessed Bible, my 
comforter, my guide to heaven’s gate, how I thank God 
for you !’ And then she would say to me, ‘ My son, 
bind the words of this book as chains about thy 
neck; write them on thine heart.’ Ah, my mother, I 
have not done so ; but I trust, by God’s help, I shall ; 


LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 


95 


and see to it, my boys, that you lay up its words in 
your hearts, that it may lead you to a better world than 
this.” 

Then Molly was called in and took her seat, and 
Farmer Smith read the first Psalm. “ Let us pray,” 
then said the father, and all knelt down, while, with a 
trembling voice, he offered up his prayer. 

The next morning, when Farmer Smith came in to 
breakfast, Mrs. Smith had laid the Bible ready for him. 
Molly was called in. The yard-boy was set in the 
back kitchen, that no one might make a disturbance, 
and Mrs. Smith -failed not to say to him, “ You may 
keep near the passage here ; you will be none the worse 
for hearing !” The father read the second Psalm, and 
prayed again. 

From that day morning and evening prayers were 
always heard in Farmer Smith’s dwelling. 

Rose could not finish the socks for little Johnnie Lam- 
bert till the day before that on which she was to return to 
school. She could not hope to be spared to take them, 
because it was time for her things to be packed lip. 
So after dinner she said, “ Mother, I have finished little 
Johnnie’s last sock; will you please give them to 
Widow Lambert when you see. her ?” 

“ And why not take them yourself, child ?” 

“ I thought you would want me, mother, for packing 
my clothes.” 


96 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ 0, I can see to that. It isn’t likely, when you have 
worked up all your play-time into socks for a barefoot 
child, that I should hinder you from the sight of them on 
his feet. I have found you up an old pair of Ted’s 
boots, for I dare say the child’s ^,re as much to pieces 
as they are together, and there’s no use in his wearing 
out your work as soon as you have done it, for want of 
a pair of boots to cover it.” 

So away went the ministering child, with her own 
hand to draw on the socks of the fatherless boy, and to 
see him stoop down and feel them with his little fingers, 
while the tear of thankfulness glistened in his mother’s 
eye. Rose took a farewell of Mercy, and then hastened 
home. When she turned the corner of the road, there, 
on the top of the green slope at the garden gate of the 
farm, was Miss Clifford on her white pony, and David, 
her groom, holding his black pony at her side. Rose 
longed to run home for fear Miss Clifford should be 
gone. But she did not like Miss Clifford to see her 
running, so she walked down the hill to the bridge, and 
then began, as fast as she could, to climb the green slope. 
Miss Clifford x was talking to Mrs. Smith, but she saw 
Rose coming, and wishing Mrs. Smith “ good day,” she 
rode down the slope and met the child. 

“ I heard from Mercy that you were going back to 
school,” said Miss Clifford, “ so I called to wish you 
good-by, and to bring you a little Hymn Book like 


LITTLE ROSE AT HOME. 


97 


Mercy’s, for she tells me that you have no Hymn Book, 
and were pleased with hers. There it is ; I have writ- 
ten your name and mine in it. So now there will be no 
fear of our forgetting each other, will there ?” 

Rose took the book from Miss .Clifford’s hand, and 
courtesied to the very ground, while her eyes told her 
young heart’s gladness. 

Then, with a parting smile on the little girl, Miss 
Clifford raised Snowflake’s rein, and in a moment more 
she was cantering up the opposite hill, while Rose ran 
with her treasure to her mother. Mrs. Smith was 
greatly pleased at Miss Clifford’s call and present to 
Rose, after her refusal about the class ; and the last even- 
ing of th£ little girl’s holidays was soothed by the ten- 
derness of all in her home, and so went the ministering 
child back again to her school in the town. 


98 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER YL 

HERBERT CLIFFORD. 

How much better it is to get wisdom than gold? and to get un- 
derstanding rather to be chosen than silver. — Proverbs xvi, 16. 

“ Where is Herbert ?” asked Mr. Clifford, on sitting- 
down to the dinner- table one day, as the month of Jan- 
uary was drawing to a close. 

“Mr. Herbert came in late, sir, and wilt soon be 
down,” said a servant in waiting. 

Herbert quickly entered, with glowing cheeks. “ I am 
very sorry to be late, mamma, but papa will not mind 
when I tell him what has hindered me. I know, papa, 
you thought I never should be charitable, but I shall ; T 
have taken up with it at last, and capital fun it is !” 

“ Indeed !” replied Mr. Clifford. “ Charity, having to 
do with the wants, nnd often with the sorrows of others, 
is not generally associated with fun; but it is always 
pleasant to hear of charity, so after dinner we shall call 
on you for an account.” 

“0, papa! you take things in such a serious way, it 
puts out all the fun in no time. But I will tell you, 


HERBERT CLIFFORD. 


99 


papa, and I am sure you will say I could not but do as 
I did.” 

So when the desert was on the table, Herbert began. 
“ How, papa, for my story. I had been skating, and I 
thought I should be late home, so to save myself the 
corner by the road, I just cut across old Willy Green’s 
garden. I leaped the ditch, and as I stopped a minute 
to recover breath, I saw Willy Green sitting on the trunk 
of a tree on the edge of his garden ditch, a little lower 
down. I thought, as he had seen me come in in that 
sort of way, I must stop and speak to him. So I said, 
‘ Well, Willy, you won’t take me up for trespassing ; you 
know, at least, I am an honest lad !’ But he did not 
speak a word, he only shook his head, and sat panting 
for breath. I was frightened enough then, for I believed 
he was going to die, and I alone with him there ! So I 
said, ‘ Do you feel ill, Willy V After a minute he man- 
aged to speak, and then he said, ‘ O master, I been after 
riving a bit of fire-wood, and I thought my breath 
would never come again !’ And there was his hatchet 
wedged in the old tree, and he had not had the 
strength to get it out again. I soon pulled it out for 
him, and then I asked him how he could think of trying 
at what he had no strength for ; and he said he had 
been perished with cold the last night, and had laid 
shivering for hours, so he thought he would try after a 
few chips, just to make a blaze and get a little warmth 
7 


100 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


into him, but that it had almost cost him his life’s 
end.” 

Herbert saw the tears fill his sister’s eyes, so he made 
haste to what he thought the best part of the story. 

“ Well, papa, I had spent the last of my money on a 
new-fashioned riding whip, but I remembered that my 
next month’s allowance would be mine in a week, and 
a week would be quite soon enough to pay for some 
coals, if I had them sent in to old Willy to-morrow. I 
thought, papa, you would not mind my giving a promise 
in such a case ; so I said to old Willy, who was standing 
by me, ‘ Never mind, Willy; you shall not be tempted to 
kill yourself over an old log,’ and I gave a desperate 
push and sent the old tree down into the ditch, for, be- 
ing hollow, it was not so heavy as it looked. The poor 
old fellow called out as if it had been his barn or a cot- 
tage blown down. It was such fgn, because I knew 
how I meant to surprise him ! So I said , 1 Don’t break 
your heart after the old log; you shall see plenty of 
shining black coal at your stile to-morrow 1’ I thought 
he would be as pleased as possible at that, but I sup- 
pose it seemed to him too good to be true, for he only 
shook his head and said, ‘ I thank you, master, but I 
fear there’s no good comes of casting away the least of 
God’s creatures.’ But I shall show him what I mean 
when to-morrow comes ! I could not have done better 
could I, papa ?” 


HERBERT CLIFFORD. 


101 


“ Indeed, Herbert, I am afraid you will find yourself 
in a serious difficulty. You seem to have thrown my 
rule, as to your monthly allowance, overboard, with old 
Willy’s log. It can be hardly necessary for me to re- 
mind you of what I have repeated to you year by year, 
that I never allow you to anticipate your allowance by 
any debt or promise. I give you what is amply 
sufficient for you, month by month ; and while I am 
spared to watch over yon, I never will allow you to 
acquire the habit of making the expenditure of the 
present a debt upon the future.” 

“ But, papa, it was only one week beforehand, and it 
was for charity !” 

“Whatever the length of time, or whatever the 
object, your father’s rule, my boy, was the same; 
and you cannot break the rule without incurring 
the penalty. Your next month’s allowance is forfeited, 
as I always told you it would be, if my rule was broken 
by you.” 

“ But, papa, I promised.” 

“ You promised what you had no right to engage for, 
and have no power to perform. If you learn by this 
lesson to avoid a too hasty promise through life, it will 
be well for you. This was a promise made in direct 
infringement of my rule ; and therefore the sorrow of 
recalling the promise must be yours. If you had not 
wasted your money,' you would not have found your- 


102 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


self without any, when a real want came before 
you.” 

“Then, papa, I must leave old Willy to perish 
with cold, and the only bit of fire-wood he has in the 
ditch.” 

“ God forbid, Herbert, that you should have a heart, 
and I a son capable of such an act ! If you can render 
no aid to the needy without your purse, then you put 
your money before your powers of heart, and mind, and 
body. This is a base substitution, and proves that, for 
your own sake, you have need indeed to be separated 
from your purse for a time.” 

Herbert said no more; he saw his father was 
resolved, and that all appeal was hopeless. He tried 
to restrain his feelings while his father was present ; but 
when Mr. Clifford retired to his study after dinner, poor 
Herbert’s despair broke forth. 

“ 0, mamma ! you will help me, will you not ?” 

“ What can I do for you, Herbert ?” 

“ Will you send as much coal as would last out that 
old log?” 

“No, dear Herbert, I cannot do that The work 
is yours, and I must not take it out of your hands. 
Try to look at it calmly; it is your first real diffi- 
culty in life, and all your future will be influenced 
by it.” 

“It is not any use to think about it, mamma. 


HERBERT CLIFFORD. 


103 


If you will not help me, I shall never get out of it. 
And perhaps old Willy will die with the cold, ard the 
whole village will say it was I who robbed him of his 
fire-wood. They will think I did it for mischief, and 
never meant to give him anything better; and then, 
mamma, I shall hate the place, and never be able to 
bear it.” 

And Herbert hid his face in his hands in a passion 
of tears. Mrs. Clifford remained silent ; and his sister’s 
face grew pale, but she did not speak. Looking up at 
last, Herbert said : “ Mamma, do you think that if I 
asked papa, he would let me have a man to get the log 
out of the ditch ? If I could but once right old Willy, 
I would never meddle with charity again.” 

“You can ask your papa, if you think it likely,” 
replied Mrs. Clifford, sorrowfully, without looking at her 
son. 

“But, mamma, if papa does not, what am I to do? 
Is it not dreadful to be in such a state ? It seems the 
worst thing in the world, to have gone and robbed that 
poor old fellow of his log, and then leave him to perish 
with cold ; that is what he will think, and all the village 
will think — it drives me wild. Will you not give me a 
word of advice, mamma ?” 

“ I will tell you something, dear Herbert, if you will 
listen to me ?” 

“ Yes, mamma, I will listen to anything. I seem to 


104 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


have no thoughts, only one dreadful blank of dead, 
hopeless cold in me.” And Herbert came and stood by 
his mother’s chair, and put his arm round her neck. 
The storm of his passion had spent itself; but it was 
with a face expressive of utter hopelessness that he stood 
prepared to listen. 

“When you were a little child, Herbert, and when 
you loved the Bible you so seldom look at now, you 
were standing one day at my knee, having tried long 
and patiently to learn that beautiful verse, ‘ Unto us a 
child is born, unto us a son is given, and the govern- 
ment shall be upon his shoulder ; and his name shall 
be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The 
everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.’ When I had 
explained it a little to you, I said, ‘ Herbert, will you 
make that blessed Saviour, God’s beloved Son, your 
Counselor?’ You looked very thoughtful, and said, 
‘ I don’t know, mamma.’ I replied, ‘ He is your papa’s 
Counselor, Herbert. Your papa goes to ask him in every 
difficulty, to teach him what to do ; and so do I. If 
you do not, you cannot walk with us in the narrow 
way to heaven ; for none can walk in that way without 
his help. Then you looked up and said, ‘ I will, mam- 
ma ; I will do as you and papa do, and go to heaven 
with you.’ 0, Herbert, how earnestly your mother 
prayed for you, that your infant words might not fall to 
the ground, but might be fulfilled from your early years. 


HERBERT CLIFFORD. 


105 


And now comes the trial, whether you will forsake Him 
whom you chose as the Guide of your youth, or whether 
you will turn to that heavenly Counselor, and seek for 
direction in your present trouble, where none ever sought 
it aright and in vain.” 

“ But, mamma, it is so long since I have really prayed, 
i f I ever did.” 

“Perhaps it is to lead you back to prayer, dear 
Herbert, that you have been suffered to fall into this 
difficulty.” 

“But, mamma, what use is it to pray, when, if papa 
will not let me have any money, it is not possible to get 
out of this trouble ?” 

“Ho you think, Herbert, that God who made you, 
made you to be dependent upon money ? or that if you 
truly turn to him, acknowledging your fault, and ask- 
ing his forgiveness and help, he could not aid, and 
would not pity you ?” 

“Well, mamma, I will try; but indeed it is very 
hard to look out into the dark, where I cannot see as 
if any light would come.” 

u Only try, dear Herbert ; and it may be your glad 
surprise will prove the first beginning in your heart of 
a blessed life of prayer and praise.” 

“ My head aches, mamma, and I have not begun to 
prepare for my tutor to-morrow, and he never will hear 
of an excuse, unless papa speaks for me, and I am sure 


106 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


papa will not do that now ; so I shall not have time to 
come down again this evening.” 

Herbert wished his mother good-night, and then 
went to the sofa where his sister had been silently 
listening to all; and as he stooped to kiss her, she 
said, “Have you never watched till you have seen 
the first bright star shine through the dark cloud at 
night?” 

“Yes, I have seen that,” replied Herbert. 

“ There is no darkness upon earth, dear Herbert,” 
said his sister, “ that God cannot lighten. Prayer is sure 
at last to bring a bright star in the dark cloud, if you 
do not give it up ;” and Herbert looked at her sweet 
smile, and the first ray of peaceful hope seemed to steal 
into his heart. 

Herbert went round by his father’s study; and on 
being admitted, he went up to his parent and said, 
“Will you forgive me, papa, for my disobedience? I 
am very sorry for it.” 

“Yes, my dear boy, you have my full forgiveness. I 
suffer as well as you, while I leave you unaided in what 
looks to you so hard a lesson ; and it is a hard one, if 
you try it any way but the right way. Do you know 
that one right way, Herbert ?” 

“ Yes, papa, I think I do.” 

“If so, my boy, it may prove the best lesson you 
have ever learned ; and sad would be the act that 


HERBERT CLIFFORD. 


10T 


should deprive you of the need to acquire a knowledge 
so blessed !” 

“But, papa, if I get out of this, I can never try 
charity again.” 

“ I think that depends upon whether you get out of 
this trouble on the right side or the wrong. The after- 
effect of all our troubles depends upon whether we 
scramble out of them as best we can on this world’s 
side; or whether we ask our Saviour to give us his hand 
in the deep waters, and help us out on the side nearest 
heaven, on which none can get out without him. Sup- 
pose I ask you to give me back that many-bladed knife 
I gave you on your last birthday, because the first time 
you opened it you cut your fingers with it ? Do you 
wish for that reason to part with it ?” 

“ O no, papa, that was only the first time, and I am 
sure any one might have done the same ! I soon learned 
to know the different springs.” 

“ And even so with blessed charity, my boy ; it is a 
finely-tempered instrument, and many there are who 
wound both themselves and others for want of skill in 
using it. None but the God who creates it in man can 
ever teach us to manage it aright. You have wounded 
yourself, and risked the injuring another, by a mistaken 
use of it ; but if you once learn how to use it, you will 
be willing to part with your purse, yes, with every 
Earthly possession, rather than with it. And now, 


108 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


good-night, and God bless you, my child, and pour into 
your heart that most excellent gift of charity, the very 
bond of peace and of all virtues, without which, whoso- 
ever liveth is counted dead before Him, even true love 
to God' and man.” 

Herbert went slowly and sorrowfully to his room to 
take his mother’s counsel. The hope that for a moment 
had soothed him, reflected from his sister’s smile and 
words of assurance, was gone again. His head was 
heavy and his prayer was heavy ; it did not seem to rise 
to heaven, or bring him any light. He sat down to 
prepare his lessons ; but all attempts at study were vain. 
His thoughts still wandered to that shivering old man, 
and his wasted log in the ditch. He was learning a 
deeper lesson, in which his books of human learning 
could not aid him, and his mind refused to turn to 
studies which yielded no sympathy in his pressing need. 
Weary with the vain struggle of feeling, he thought he 
would lie down on his pillow, and try to lose himself 
and his trouble in sleep ; but he could only wake to 
find all the same as he had left it. Then his sister’s 
words came back upon his heart : “ Prayer is sure at 
last to bring a star in the dark cloud, if you do not give 
it up;” so kneeling down again, he- tried to lift the same 
heavy heart and heavy prayer to Heaven. 

He rose and drew back his curtain, and standing 
within it, looked up to the sunless sky. The heavy 


HERBERT CLIFFORD. 


109 


clouds were chasing each other across the low horizon, 
and not a star was visible. Yet, thought Herbert, the 
stars are still the same, and perhaps to-morrow night 
the sky will be cloudless ; but I shall have no comfort, 
for no stars lie for me behind my trouble. 

He turned back again into his room ; he had placed 
his lamp in a further corner when he went to the win- 
dow, and now, as he looked toward it, its light fell on 
the crimson cover of his Bible, and he remembered his 
mother’s words, “ That Bible, Herbert, you so seldom 
look at now !” He went and took it sorrowfully and 
hopelessly down, but still he took it ; he took the book 
whose words are spirit and life ; he took the book whose 
words can wake the dead, can turn darkness into light, 
and warm the heart, and nerve the spirit, with a living 
energy that death itself has no power to destroy ; Her- 
bert took his Bible, and sitting down, he opened at the 
first chapter of the book of James, and there alone be- 
side his lamp, his elbow resting on the table, and his 
heavy head upon his hand, he looked upon the sacred 
page, and read till he came to the words : “ If any of 
you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to 
all men liberally, and upbraideth not ; and it shall be 
given him ; but let him ask in faith, nothing waver- 
ing.” 

He read no further. The sacred word had spoken to 
him. It knew his need, and answered to that need, 


110 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


with a voice that searched far deeper than any other 
words had done. His mother had told him to pray ; 
but his Bible had told him how, even with “faith,” 
believing that God would hear and answer. His sister 
had told him that whatever our dark trouble might be, 
prayer could bring a bright star shining through it ; 
but his Bible mentioned the very star he wanted, 
even “ wisdom,” the light of wisdom to show him what 
to do. 

And now once more he knelt to ask with hope in 
God, whose word of promise his heart had found in his 
time of need. He asked again that he might be able 
to find some right way out of his trouble. And then his 
thoughts wandered over the village. Always bent on 
his own amusement, he had taken no interest in the 
wants or the comforts of any one there; no eye had 
looked in grateful love upon him ; no voice had blessed 
him. He knew not how to ask the aid of those of 
whose comfort he had proved himself regardless. Then 
the rich boy felt his true position ; not allowed now to 
fall back on the aid of any in his father’s service, he did 
not know one to whom he could turn for help in his 
trouble ; it was as a lightning flash that pierced through 
the tinsel of wealth, and showed him his personal pov- 
erty, in all save that which a hasty word had the power 
to deprive him of. 

But while thinking on all who dwelt around him, 


HERBERT CLIFFORD. 


Ill 


among whom he could not see one whose love he had 
won, suddenly he saw again in memory the son of 
Widow Jones, “ honest Jem,” as he had seen him in 
reality a few days before, feeding Farmer Smith’s sheep, 
the sheep all gathering round him, eating sometimes 
from the turnips at his feet, and when they failed there, 
looking up to his hand, which reached them out a sup 
ply, while one little weakly lamb, held safe under his 
arm, nibbled a turnip held for it in his left hand. The 
scene on the snowy field was so pretty that old Jenks, 
the coachman, had driven slowly by, saying to Herbert, 
who was on the coach-box at his side, “ I would trust 
that lad, if I were in want of a friend, as soon as I 
would any man in the parish.” 

And the thought came into Herbert’s mind, that if 
Jenks would trust the shepherd-lad to be his friend, he 
might trust him too. The remembrance of the young 
shepherd brought so much relief to Herbert, that he 
gave thanks, and said his evening prayer with a more 
cheerful heart, and then lay down on his pillow and fell 
asleep. 

His anxious mother came into his room, and thought, 
as she looked at her sleeping child, “ Has then sleep 
such power to restore peace to the troubled brow ? how 
deep the repose of his expression now ! Alas, poor boy, 
will he wake to the same distress ? 0 that some light 

may break upon him, some true thought guide him 1” 


112 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


While still his mother lingered, Herbert opened his 
eyes, his mother stooped down to him, and he threw 
his arms round her neck. 

“ O ! mamma, you were quite right, quite right ! I 
thought it was all no use, but then that young shepherd 
of Farmer Smith’s came into my mind; you know who 
I mean, mamma; they call him in the village ‘honest 
Jem ;’ he is the only person I could ask to do a kind- 
ness for me now that I have no money to pay them ; J. 
think every one else would expect me to pay them, but 
I don’t think that he would, from what Jenks said the 
other day. Do you think that would do, mamma ? Do 
you think papa would mind my asking him ?” 

“No, I think you have fixed upon quite the right 
person. I have heard your sister speak in his praise, 
and your father only feels it right not to furnish you 
with help from any resources of his own. He wishes 
you to find a remedy of yourself and independent of 
your home ; that you ipay both learn and remember the 
lesson he hopes this trial may teach you.” 

“ But then, mamma, I have no doubt he is off by six 
o’clock to the sheep, and he would say he could not give 
his master’s time to me, so I must be up and off by 
five o’clock, or sooner than that, to give time to drag the 
old log up again. O, I do think I shall have it up by 
to-morrow night, and it makes me so thankful !” 

“And does nothing else make you thankful, my child 


HERBERT CLIFFORD. 


113 


“ Yes, mamma, because I know where the thought 
came from ! and it was my Bible that first seemed really 
to comfort me, and help me to pray.” 

“ And then, Herbert, when -you have taken this first 
step in the narrow way, that way which is only entered 
by prayer, shall you wish to leave it again, and forget 
all that, has helped you now ?” 

“No, I hope I should not wish to leave it, mamma; 
but I don’t know whether I shall be able to walk in 
it. Do you think it would all be so hard as this has 
been ?” 

“ What was it that made this hard, can you tell me 
that?” 

“ Why, it was my own fault, mamma, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, God does not willingly afflict or grieve ; his 
ways are pleasantness, and his paths peace.” 

And so the mother blessed her. child and left him to 
his rest. 

Left to himself, Herbert’s thoughts turned again to 
old Willy. Was the old man then shivering in his bed ? 
he had not had the little fire of chips he had hoped for, 
to warm him with, before he slept ! Herbert had not 
remembered this before, and saddened again with this 
fresh recollection, he fell asleep. He slept and dreamed. 
Herbert thought in his dreams, that, unable to rest, he 
rose from his bed, and went by night to see whether old 
Willy were indeed lying shivering with cold. He 


114 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


walked along the well-known road, crossed the little 
stile into old Willy’s garden, and gently opened the 
cottage door. All was still within the cottage, and 
there, at the further corner of the room, lay old Willy 
sleeping in his bed ; and, leaning where the low bed-post 
rose bending over the watching old Willy, a radiant 
angel stood. The old man was asleep ; he looked full 
of peace, and drew his breath as gently as an infant, 
and smiled as if he dreamed of holy things. Herbert 
thought that he did not feel at .all afraid of the angel, 
and the bright angel turned his face of love, and looked 
on Herbert, and said to him, 

“ My child, what brings you here by night ?” 

“ I came,” replied Herbert, “ to see whether old Willy 
slept, or whether he was lying shivering with the cold, 
as he told me he did last night.” 

“ He did shiver long,” said the bright angel, “ before 
he fell asleep, but he has slept some hours now. I 
count the moments while he sleeps, for when he wakes 
he must feel the cold of this old house and shiver 
again.” 

“ Cannot you keep old Willy from feeling the cold 
when he wakes ?” asked Herbert. 

“ No,” replied the angel, gravely, “ I cannot do that ; 
that work of love is yours. You could not do my 
work, and I cannot do yours.” 

“ What is your work?” asked Herbert. 


HERBERT CLIFFORD. 


115 


“You could not understand my work if I were to 
tell you, because it is only an angel’s work ; but you 
can understand your own, because your God and our 
God has taught you in his word.” 

“ I did mean to have made old Willy warm,” said 
Herbert, “ but I have no money now.” 

“ Poor child ! can you do nothing without money ?” 
asked the radiant angel. “Do you wish to help any, 
pray for them, and you will soon find you are taught 
how to help them. You must hearken to the voice of 
God’s word, that is how holy angels learn their work 
in heaven, and that is how you must learn yours 
on earth.” 

Then the blight angel turned and looked again on 
old Willy, and Herbert awoke from his sleep. At first he 
wondered where he was, but he heard the ticking of his 
watch, and starting up, he lit his candle and looked at 
the time. It was nearly five o’clock. So, having 
dressed, and offered up his morning prayer, he crept 
softly down stairs, let himself out, and went forth into 
the darkness. 


8 


116 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER YII. 

HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND “HONEST JEM.” 

Pleasant words are as a honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and 
health to the bones. — Proverbs xvi, 24. 

“I have no doubt Jem is used to logs, and knows 
how to manage them,” thought Herbert as he walked 
along. “I did not bring a cord with me, but he is 
sure, I should think, to have cords at his cottage; 
people who have to do with work must always be 
wanting such things.” 

The road was longer than Herbert supposed, and 
though he ran and walked by turns, yet the time went 
on apace, and Jem’s cottage was still distant. At last 
he saw the dim beginning of the lane, and a figure 
come up it and turn the corner of. another road. 
“ Halloo, stop there !” cried Herbert, and running on, he 
found the figure, now standing still, to be none other 
than Jem himself, with his bill-hook hanging from his 
hand, and his hatchet over his shoulder. 

Jem knew the young squire by sight, and ex* 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 117 


claimed, “ Why, Mr. Clifford, sir ! I hope there’s nothing 
happened !” 

“ Nothing, I hope, but what you can set right,” re- 
plied Herbert, “ if you will have the kindness to come to 
my help.” 

“If you please, sir, I am ready right away,” said 
Jem, still in a maze of astonishment at what could 
have befallen the young squire at sucb an hour of the 
morning. 

“I am afraid it’s later than I thought, or you are 
earlier ; how are you off for time ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Why, as to that, sir, I am my own master now for 
a bit, as the saying is.” 

“How is that? I thought you kept the sheep on 
Farmer Smith’s farm ?” 

“So I do, sir, but just as this year came in master 
gave me a job of hedging and ditching ; and now he has 
been so good as to let me have another turn of it; and 
master has set the man Billy Warren for the time to 
look after my sheep. So you see, sir, the hour is noth- 
ing particular, because, as I take it by the job, master 
don’t mind an hour one w r ay or the other ; so there is no 
need to be looking after that.” 

Herbert felt the light of hope, that had led him 
to Jem, brighter, at the words of the kind-hearted lad, 
and was about to turn round for old Willy’s, when 
he remembered the cord. 


118 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“I am afraid we shall want a cord,” said Herbert; 
“ and I did not bring one. I suppose you keep such 
things always at hand in your house ?” 

“ Dear me, no, sir ! it is not much we have to turn to, 
save a pair of hands and feet, thanks be to Heaven for 
them, and the notion how to use them ; but if a cord be 
the want, I can soon fetch one down from master’s 
at the farm.” 

“There is nothing can be done in this job without 
it,” replied Herbert, who felt that now he must come to 
a confession ; “ the mischief is, that yesterday I found old 
Willy Green killing himself almost, over an old trunk of 
a tree, and I hoped to have been able to send him 
in some coal to-day, so I tumbled the old log down in- 
to his ditch. But I had forgotten myself when I prom- 
ised the coal, and now I find I cannot keep my word, 
and I have been almost distracted about it. I want to 
get the old log up again, and did not know who to ask 
to stand my friend and help me, but I thought perhaps 
you would ; but if you take a look at it first, you will 
better know what we shall want to get it up with.” 

“As you please, sir,” said Jem, and he turned and 
followed at Herbert’s side. The two walked in silence 
on, the print of Herbert’s light foot left side by side in 
the snow with the impress of the heavy tread of Jem’s 
step of toil and strength. Herbert thought to him- 
self, “Jem does not like the job, I am sure, or he would 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 119 


have said something more than ‘As you please, sir.’ I 
wish I could find out what he feels about helping me in 
it, it is so wretched not to know ! I must make him 
say something.” 

“ I am afraid, Jem,” said Herbert, “ you are thinking 
you don’t like the business, but if you could just help 
me through with it, I should always feel grateful to 
you.” 

How Jem understood that he was expected to speak, 
and when once he understood that, he was always ready, 
and his words were sure, when they did come, to come 
warm with the glow of his kind true heart : he replied, 

“ Well, master, I was just thinking I ought to have 
been at it alone, instead of your being waked up before 
so much as a mouse has oped its eye. If I had but 
known, sure enough I would, and I might have known, 
if I had had half a thought, as the saying is.” 

“You could not have known,” replied Herbert; “it 
was only yesterday I did it.” 

“Well, sir, that may be, but I might have known 
that poor old man would come to the want of fire- wood, 
such weather as this has been ; instead of leaving 
him who has no more strength than a child, nor yet so 
much, to be hacking at that old stump ; and then it was 
I set it down so near the ditch. I thought to leave it 
out of the way; but may be it’s all for the best, as 
mother is so often saying.” 


120 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


With Jem’s last words they stopped at the stile. 
Herbert sprang over with a heart almost as light as 
his step, for its heavy weight had melted away under 
the sunshine of Jem’s kind words. Jem followed after 
him, and they were soon at the edge of the ditch, both 
looking down in the dim gray twilight of morning 
on the old stump below. 

There stood the poor boy, with hatchet over his 
shoulder, and bill-hook in his hand, surveying the log 
from above ; his was the strength to aid, his the skill to 
devise how, his the willing mind : and there stood Her- 
bert by his side in helpless dependence, with eyes of 
hope and fear now fixed on Jem, then on the log below. 

Jem stood in silence a few moments, then down he 
laid his bill-hook, and springing into the ditch, planted 
his feet upon the log, and, raising his hatchet with both 
hands above his head, fetched a stroke which clave a 
slit, where it entered the wood, about twice the length 
of the blade. “That’s the job, sir,” said Jem, looking 
up to Herbert from below ; “ it’s not a bit of use for 
us to be thinking we could haul the old log up again ; 
why a horse could not do it ! but a few such strokes as 
that will bring it up in a right sort of a way, all ready 
for use !” 

A second time the ponderous hatchet, raised by those 
strong arms, and firm and honest hands, fell with unerr- 
ing aim, splitting the wood beside one of the hard knots 








% 





Page 131. 




HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 121 


of the old trunk. “That’s kind now,” said Jem, in a 
conciliating tone, to the old log; “that’s just doing what 
you should, and splitting right away, as I meant.” 

Herbert laughed at Jem’s soliloquy to the log ; a hap- 
py laugh, for bright thoughts were breaking in on his 
heart; thoughts of raising the log all ready for old 
Willy’s use, and seeing it raised by hands that seemed 
to love the labor; thoughts that broke on Herbert’s trouble 
like the gleams of the sun now shining across the dark- 
ened sky of night. Stroke followed stroke, without 
another pause, till the first log, severed from the parent 
trunk, lay at the feet of honest Jem. Down sprang 
Herbert into mud and mire, seized it' in his hands, and, 
scrambling up again, lifted the log above his head, and 
gave a loud “hurra.” Never did shout of triumph 
ring more joyfully after the past trial of despair, than 
this from Herbert’s lips. He shouted it with a voice as 
loud and clear as if he thought to reach the ears of love 
within his home, with this his first glad utterance since 
his trouble had begun ; but his parents heard it not. 

But though the note of triumph reached not the 
hearts that would have echoed back its gladness, it did 
fall on old Willy’s ear, and roused him from his slum- 
ber : to him it was a signal of surprise and fear. He 
opened the little casement above his bed, and looked in 
terror from it, expecting to see a company of thieves 
stealing his early vegetables. Herbert heard the little 


122 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


window open, and saw the old man’s troubled face: “It’s 
no thief, Willy ; we will keep watch.” 

But old Willy still looked out into the dim light, 
anxious and fearful. 

“ Never fear, daddy ; it’s I,” said Jem. 

And Herbert saw the change that passed across the 
face of the old man at that true-hearted voice, as he shut 
his little window to lie down again and sleep; while 
Herbert turned gravely back, log in hand, to Jem. 

“Old Willy is not your father, is he?” asked 
Herbert. 

“ No, sir ; I can’t say he is, but I got in the way of 
calling him so when I was a child, and so I keep to it, 
and may be it cheers him now, for he has none belong- 
ing to him that have a care to see after him ; not but 
what he is worth a dozen and more of them that 
neglect him ! but, by what I can see, it is the way of 
this world, as the saying is, to slight them that are old 
and feeble.” 

All the time of this reply, Jem had been arranging 
his plan for a second attack upon the log, and now away 
again went the hatchet, stroke after stroke, but the 
wood was hard, and Jem began his pacific discourse 
again. “ Well, now, you had best give in at once, for I 
can tell you ’tis your master upon you, and there’s no 
use in standing out ; ’tis only wasting your time and 
mine.” 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 123 


Whether the log took the hint, or whether the 
hatchet took the exact grain of the wood, we need not 
ascertain, but so it was that a capital cleft was the result 
of the next stroke, and Jem pursued his advantage so 
vigorously, that Herbert soon laid a second log by the 
side of the first. 

“ Do you always talk to yourself in that way ?” asked 
Herbert. 

“ It’s not so much to myself I talk, sir, as to the 
thing I am after. It makes it seem more company-like, 
and gets me into a better humor with it. I took to it 
young, and that’s why it hangs to me so, I suppose ; for 
you see, sir, my mother was left a widow when I was 
but a few months old, and she has often said how she 
missed the kind word of my poor father more than the 
money he earned her, though she had to labor hard 
enough. Then people spoke short to her in her trouble, 
and took it as a burden laid on them, as you know, sir, 
the widow and the fatherless are always taken to be 
when they come on a parish. As long back as I can 
remember, I have seen her fret for a rough word, and 
then I would see her wholly cheered up by a kind one. 
So it came to me, young enough, that good words must 
be among the best of good things, if they do but come 
from the heart, as the saying is, and so I tried at them 
myself ; and I have found, times and often, that a good 
word will do it when a bad one won’t, and by reason of 


124 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


that I have got in the way, and now I don’t know as 
that I could get out of it. But it’s not words that will 
do it all,” added Jem as he prepared himself for a fresh 
onset upon the log. 

Stroke after stroke, stroke after stroke, with good 
words in between, till a third and larger log was sepa- 
rated from the trunk. Herbert laid his treasures side by 
side, as he would have laid fox or hare from the hunt a 
few days before. 

“ Now, Jem,” said Herbert, “ you have given me one 
of the best gifts, I declare, that I ever had in my life, and 
you must not be kept here any longer. If I could but 
find up old Willy’s hatchet, I would try at it myself 
before I go back.” 

“ Well, sir, as for that, my time is my own ; master 
won’t be against an hour or so either way.” 

“No, Jem, but it’s the strength it costs you, and you 
must not spend all you have upon me.” 

“ Well, sir, I won’t go against your word, but as for 
strength, I’m only getting it up by those few strokes ; 
there’s no fear for being the weaker for a stroke for 
them that can’t strike for themselves.” 

Herbert looked inquiringly at Jem, uncertain whether 
he meant him or old Willy by “ them that can’t strike 
for themselves but Jem, in his honest simplicity, un- 
derstood not the awakened start of the young spirit’s in- 
dependence ; but he did understand that he was to retire ; 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 125 


when in a moment more, Herbert flung off his coat as 
Jem had done, laying down his hat upon it, and 
springing on the log, seized Jem’s hatchet, and raised it 
above his head in the act to strike. “ Have a care, sir, 
have a care !” cried Jem, entreatingly, as, having sprung 
on the brow of the ditch, he looked down on Herbert, 
“that old hatchet is as sharp as anything, and if it 
slips the wood it may take your feet as like as not.” 

Herbert paused a minute while Jem gave full instruc- 
tions how to place his feet, how to avoid the knots of 
the old trunk, and to take it in the grain of the wood. 
At last the stroke was given, a little way, some poor 
half inch the hatchet condescended to enter, and no more. 
“That could not have been done better for the first,” 
said Jem ; “but I am thinking, sir, there are as many 
logs as old Willy will burn in a day. But if you have 
a mind to work in right earnest, why he will be in want 
of a few chips to help make the old logs burn, and it 
will be best to begin with them, till the strength gets up 
a bit and the knack of the other gets known ; it’s not 
^earned in an hour to cut up an old log, and you were 
not born to it, you see, sir ; so it don’t come natural.” 

“ I suppose I was born to help the poor !” said Her- 
bert, looking up gravely into Jem’s pleading face above 
him, his own glowing with the effort of the recent stroke, 
and the rays of the morning sun falling like Heaven’s 
blessing on his young uncovered head. “ I was bom, [ 


126 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


suppose, to help the poor !” again repeated Herbert, 
looking thoughtfully down on the old log at his feet ; 
“but if you think old Willy will want chips, I will not 
be against trying at them first.” 

“ That he will, sir, and daddy’s bill-hook is not so 
heavy as mine by half. I can find it up in his old log- 
house.” The bill-hook was found, and springing down 
on the log, Jem gave Herbert a lesson in cutting chips; 
and then away went honest Jem to his work for the 
day, the risen sun gilding the sky. 

Herbert toiled away at the log to his great satisfaction, 
till he suddenly remembered the time. Then, without 
further delay, he carried the chips that lay scattered 
around him, and piled them up by the precious logs at 
old Willy’s door, when suddenly the door opened, and 
the old man looked out. 

“ Bless you, master, what are you after now ?” said 
old Willy, in a wonderment at sight of the young squire, 
soiled and laden with chips. Herbert looked up, his 
healthful effort shedding as bright a crimson on his 
cheeks as the risen sun had but now shed upon the 
morning sky, and laying down his burden close beside 
the door, he replied, “ Why, Willy, I am very sorry, but 
I promised what I could not perform. I am very sorry, 
Willy, but I cannot buy so much as a shovel full of 
coals, I don’t mind telling you, Willy, but I have for- 
feited my money that I have to spend for my own, and 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 127 

bo I got Jem to help me to get up your log again ; but it 
was too heavy, and so he cut those logs off, and I cut 
the chips ! Won’t you be warm now, Willy ?” -> 

“ Yes, bless you !” said the old man, and his voice 
trembled with feeling, “ warm outside and in too ! And 
it’s a deal better than casting away one of God’s good 
creatures to make room for another. I had wholly a 
dread to see the coals come in, and my old log left at 
the bottom of the ditch. And then, master, it was the 
hand of kindness that gave it me, and I thought it 
seemed hard to cast it away like that.” 

“ Who gave it you ?” asked Herbert, with a quick 
idea that it perhaps had been Jem himself. 

“ Why you see, sir, Farmer Smith has set Jem, my 
Jem, as I call him, to a job of hedging and ditching, 
and so one day he came here with his barrow and that 
old log on it, and he said, ‘ Here, daddy, I have made 
mother a fire for many a day to come, and this old log is 
for you; now don’t you be after hacking on it. I’ll 
set it right away against the ditch here, and then, when I 
get a little further on in my job, I’ll take an hour at it 
as I can, and soon have it in pieces for you.’ And so 
it just eases me that it’s not all gone for nothing, after 
his taking that care after me. But you will catch cold, 
master, out in this freezing air.” 

“ O no, Willy, I am not,. afraid of that,” replied 
Herbert, who had been listening with anxious attention 


L28 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


to the discovery that the log had been Jem’s gift at the 
beginning; “but,” added he, “I am off to breakfast 
now, and be sure you get up a blaze with those chips. 
I shall come to look after it, so be sure you do.” 

And Herbert was off, while the old man, leaning on 
his stick with one hand, and shading his eyes with the 
other from the radiance of the eastern sky, watched him 
out of sight ; then, turning back into his cottage, began 
to light up his fire and prepare his frugal meal. 

“Well, Herbert, my boy, is all right?” said his 
father, as he gave him his morning embrace. 

“Yes, papa, getting right, I hope. I am sure, 
mamma, that thought of Jem was right enough, for he 
is the best fellow I ever saw; he was just all that I 
wanted. And we are not going to drag up the old log, 
but cut it all to pieces down there in the ditch, and get 
it up ready for use ; is not that capital, papa ? And I cut 
the chips, and I am to cut some logs another time ; and 
I made such a pile at old Willy’s door. I mean to go 
down after my lessons, and see what sort of a fire he has. 
And only think, mamma ; it was Jem himself who had 
carried the log for old Willy’s fire, and meant to cut it up 
for him. Old Willy told me so. But, 0, if you had seen 
old Willy, papa, when he opened his bit of a window at 
the end of his cottage, and took us for thieves ! He did 
not look the least more satisfied when he found it was me, 
than if I had been a downright thief. But the moment 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND, 129 


Jem spoke, he looked as if he thought no harm could 
come to him. I wonder what all the village think of 
me.” 

“ It is not what people think of us, my boy, but what 
we really are, that we have need to inquire: suppose 
you take that exercise for your own heart to-day, What 
am I ? Answer it faithfully in writing, and put the date 
of the month and year to it ; and let me have it with a 
seal on, to lock up for you in my private desk till a year 
has passed away, if you should live to se6 it.” 

“ I will, papa, if you wish me ; but I am afraid it will 
be a poor account.” 

“ Better to face the truth at once ; then we may hope 
to begin to reflect its likeness,” replied Mr. Clifford. 
Then, with a smile of assurance, Herbert whispered to 
his sister, “The star did come in the cloud, and the 
cloud is gone now;” and hastened off to prepare for 
encountering his tutor. 

“ I am very sorry, Mr. Merton, that I am not ready 
with my lessons,” said Herbert. “ I got into trouble ; 
and it’s taken more than my best thoughts to find a 
way out of it.” 

Herbert’s tutor saw at once that it was no excuse of 
idleness; and placing confidence in his young pupil, 
such confidence as, if oftener used, might yield its 
pleasant fruit, he replied: “Perhaps you have been 
learning a better lesson than any I set you ? Shall we 


180 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


sit down to your books now, and see what we can do 
together ?” 

The look of surprise,, gratitude, and pleasure that 
instantly lighted up Herbert’s face, was assurance 
enough to his tutor that he had not erred in his 
confidence ; and that morning’s study was equally 
pleasant to teacher and pupil. 

At last Herbert was free to set off once more 
to the aged Willy’s broken-down cottage. A wreath 
of smoke was 'curling up from it to heaven, the happy 
witness of his morning’s effort. He knocked with his 
stick upon the door; then, opening it, peeped in. 
There sat old Willy, while in the open fireplace beside 
him burned red and hot the logs that morning saw pre- 
pared for use. Behind him a thick crimson curtain 
shut out the draught, and shut in the warmth of the 
fire ; a table was drawn close to him, and on it lay his 
open Bible. 

“ Well, Willy,” said Herbert, “here I am, come to see 
how the old logs burn. What a capital fire they make ! 
Did you use my chips?” 

“Yes, master, and they were greatly needed to get a 
heat up under the logs ; but I found a sprinkling of coals, 
and after a time I got up such a fire as I have not 
had for long; and the other big log is drying at the 
back.” 

Herbert drew out a little stool from the open 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 131 

chimney, and sat down close by the fire, in front of old 
Willy. Now Herbert had by no means forgotten his 
dream, and he looked round old Willy’s room with a 
feeling of awe. On the farther side of the room he saw 
a low bedstead, not unlike the one he had seen in his 
dream ; he wondered whether old Willy knew anything* 
about the angels. He thought the best way would be 
to talk to him a little on that subject; but he hardly knew 
how to begin, till remembering the open Bible, which 
still lay on the table, he said, 

“If you read the Bible, Willy, I suppose you know 
about the angels ?” 

“Yes, master, I read about them there; and what 
they do for the like of me.” 

“Do you think that they really watch over you, 
Willy?” 

“Don’t I know it, master! for does it not say 
the very same in my book? And is it not the like 
thoughts to that, that keeps me happy and praising 
God at night-times, when the wind blows my old place 
about, as if it were ready to come down and bury 
me?” 

“ Do you think the angels will keep it from falling, 
Willy?” 

“No, I never read the like of that; but I know 
they are watching over me, and I think that if it fell, 
they would carry me, as they did that poor beggar 
9 


132 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


that I read of, straight tip to the blessed heaven 
above.” 

“ But are you not afraid to sleep in this old house for 
fear*it should fall ?” 

“ No, master, why should I be afraid ? It’s not 
death I am afraid of. I say, why should I be afraid ? 
It would only be a going home : and somehow I think 
about the bright side ; and for the dark side, why should 
not I be a leaving that all behind, for why then should 
I think about it ? And don’t I know He that keeps me 
together, soul and body, can keep the place that’s over 
ray head till he takes me up to a better? Is not that 
just what he spoke to poor men that looked to him for 
comfort as I do? ‘Let not your heart be troubled : ye 
believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s 
house are many mansions: if .it were not so I would 
have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And 
if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and 
receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may 
be also.’ My blessed angel taught me those words, 
before ever I could read them in my book.” 

“Did the angels teach you that?” asked Herbert, 
leaning forward. 

“ Not them that live up above, master, but that one 
that’s a sister of yours. I always call her so, because, 
to my thinking, she seemed sent right away from the 
holy heaven to teach me, a poor old dark sinner as I was.” 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 133 

“ Do you know my sister ?” asked Herbert. 

“Why, I knew her before I knew myself,” replied 
old Willy, with a smile. 

“ How, Willy, I know you are joking ; my sister is not 
half so old as you ?” 

“No, bless her!” said old Willy, “she is but an 
infant of days by the side of an old sinner like me. 
But I mean, that I never knew myself till she taught 
me what I was.” 

“ How do you mean that she taught , you, Willy ?” 

“ Why, you see, sir, I was a poor old ignorant sin- 
ner, that had lived all my days only for this world. 
Well, I used to sit on that settle by my door for hours 
in the summer-time, when I had nothing to be after, and 
she saw me many a time as she went riding by on her 
white pony. Well, one day she stopped, and I saw 
her come stepping over the stile, so I rose up and made 
my obedience to her, and she said, ‘ Sit down again ; I 
am come to sit a little while with you on this pleasant 
seat.’ Well, she talked to me ; and she asked me if I 
thought about heaven all the long hours I sat by my- 
self on that seat at my door. I told her I could not say 
that I had much understanding about that. Then she 
asked me if I did not think about God’s blessed word, 
that showed us the way to heaven ; and I told her I 
could not say that I ever had any knowledge of that. 
Then she said, would I like to have her read to me out 


134 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


of her book, that I might get a knowledge and under- 
standing of those things; so I said, if she pleased, I 
should take it a great favor. Then she took a little 
book from her bag that hung on her arm, and she said, 
* This is the Bible ; God has given it to us to show us the 
way to heaven.’ So I bended my attention to listen ; 
and she read me about the beggar Lazarus, and the 
angels that bore him to heaven. I thought that was 
not like the ways of this world, but I did not say a 
word. So when she had done, she asked me whether I 
could tell her why it was that the angels above came 
down to carry up that poor beggar, that had not so 
much as a bed to die in, to heaven. I said, I had no 
understanding in such things ; then she said that the beg- 
gar loved the good God who made heaven and earth, and 
the good God loved that poor beggar, and so he sent 
his angels for him to take him to be with him in heaven. 
Well, I thought it was wonderful, and not much like 
to the ways of men, but I did not say a word. Then 
she asked me if I loved the good Lord as that poor beg- 
gar did ? So I said, I did not seem to know ; then she 
said, if I did not know, that showed I did not love him, 
for if I loved him, I must have a knowledge that I did ; 
and she asked me if I should like to know and love the 
good Lord, who sent his angels for the poor beggar. 
And I said, Yes, for certain I should, if 1 could come at 
it ; and she said, the poor beggar came at that knowl- 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 135 

edge, and therefore I tfnght if I tried to gain it ; and 
she said she would come and read to me about it from 
her book. Well, I sat and thought on that poor beg- 
gar, carried right away up to heaven by the angels as 
soon as the breath was out of his poor body. I thought, 
if I could be done for as he was, that would seem a 
wonderful comfort to think upon And I sat and 
watched for her to come again, for I saw .«he had got it 
all, and I seemed to think she would bring it to me, 
though I could not tell how. Well, she came again 
just as she did before, many times. I can’t mind the 
words she read to me now, only those first, but some- 
how it all seemed as if it came to me.” 

“ What came to you ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Why, the understanding to know it all. I seemed 
to get light in me to see it; I got a sight of what a 
dark, bad life I had led, without a bit of love in my 
evil heart for the good Lord, who died for me ; and then 
I saw him still waiting for me ; still calling to me, a 
poor lost sinner, to come to him. It broke my old 
heart quite up, but then I got comfort, looking up to 
him. Well, then, she said to me, ‘ Willy, God gave 
the Bible for you to look into as well as for me ; would 
you not like to have one, and try to read it?’ ‘I have 
clean lost all my learning,’ said I. ‘ But, Willy,’ said 
she, ‘ I think it would come back again ; suppose we 
try?’ So the very next time she came carrying this 


186 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


blessed book in her own bands ; and the first word she 
made me read was our Saviour’s name, Jesus. ‘ There, 
Willy,’ said she, ‘ now you can read the name of your 
Saviour, who loved you, and died for you, and sent me 
to teach you. Now see how many places in the New 
Testament you can find that name in, against I come 
again.’ How I did study to be sure, and without a bit 
of spectacles, for my eyes are wonderful. She left me 
many bits of marks, and I tucked them in where I 
found that name ; and I looked, till to be sure I 
seemed to have nothing day or night in my mind but 
that name Jesus ! And when she came again, how 
pleased she was. Then she said, ‘ Now, Willy, you 
have learned your Saviour’s blessed name, now you 
shall look after the holy name of God ; that is a terrible 
name, Willy, for those who do not love the name of 
Jesus; but I hope you do, so you don’t need to be 
afraid to look upon the holy name of God.” Well, I 
thought it seemed a serious thing as she spoke it, but I 
kept hold of that first name Jesus in my mind, when 
I looked after the other, and to be sure I seemed to find 
God everywhere ! And so I always kept those two 
together, and so I do now, for when I get upon that 
great name of God, then I think of Jesus, and it lifts 
me on. And, after a time, my learning did seem to 
come to me again, and now there is scarce a part of the 
book but what I can get comfort out of, thanks be to 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 137 

God that sent her to teach me to know him that loved 
me, and gave himself for me !” 

Herbert had listened with breathless attention, 
for he loved his sister with all the affection of his 
heart, and now he replied, “You have not seen my 
sister, Willy, for some weeks now : she has been 
ill.” 

“No, master, not since the beginning of January. 
She came here then, and the groom carried a big bundle, 
and if it was not all for me ! just this fine curtain as 
you see it hung across here ; and there was that little 
curtain for the window, instead of the old thing that 
was rotted to pieces there before ; and that one she 
brought, it is wonderful the wind and rain it keeps out 
from the thickness of it. That was the last time I saw 
her come in ; but she is never out of my sight, 
for I seem to see her in that light that shows me 
my Saviour, for she don’t seem of this world, to my 
thinking.” 

“ Well, good-by, Willy,” said Herbert, gravely ; “ it 
won’t be long before I am near you again and he 
shook hands with the old man, and hastened home. 
He was soon in his sister’s boudoir; she was lying on 
her sofa, and Herbert laid his head upon her shoulder, 
and the pent-up feelings of his heart broke forth 
in tears. 

“What is the matter, my darling Herbert? what has 


138 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


happened ? where have you been ? You must not crj 
so ; tell me all about it.” 

“ 0, Mary, why are you so long ill ? When will you 
be well again ?” 

“ When the spring-time comes, then I shall be well 
again, and we will walk and ride again together as we 
used to do.” 

“ Are you sure you will be quite well then ?” asked 
Herbert. 

“We can never be quite sure about anything upon 
earth ; but I do not feel any doubt about it, and the 
doctor thinks so too.” 

“ 0 ! then I shall be happy again !” said Herbert. 
“ And shall we go and see old Willy together ?” 

“ Yes, dear, we will do anything you like. Should 
you like to go and see him with me ?” 

“ Yes, I should like it very much. I am just come 
away from him.” 

“And had he a warm fire with the logs which you 
and Jem prepared?” asked his sister. 

“Yes, that he had, and he looked so comfortable! 
Not the least cold, and he said my chips were the great- 
est use in making. the old logs burn; and to-morrow 
morning I mean to go all alone. I know, if I try, I can 
do it with old Willy’s hatchet ; and then I shall feel of 
some use in the world : only think, if I could make old 
Willy’s fire with logs I had chopped for it !” 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 139 

“Yes, it would be very pleasant to make his fire, but 
I hope there will soon be other ways to do that without 
your chopping wood, because I don’t think you are 
strong enough for that, and I don’t think papa thought 
of your doing that.” 

“ O, Mary, you don’t know what nice work it is ! If 
you could but have seen how many chips I got off the side 
of that old tree, where Jem had chopped the logs, you 
would have known I could do it ! I will not hurt my- 
self, indeed ; it does every bit as well as skating, and 
then it makes old Willy’s fire !” 

“ Yes, but if you hurt yourself, I am afraid it would 
make me ill.” 

“ You need not be afraid, indeed, Mary. I will think 
of you ; and then I am sure to take care. You see Jem 
taught me just how to do it, and old Willy’s hatchet is 
very light.” 

That evening, when Herbert had prepared his lessons 
for his tutor, he remembered the question his father had 
given him to answer, and, sitting down again to his 
desk, he took a sheet of paper and wrote at the top : 

Question. “ What am I ?” 

Answer. “ An Englishman.” “ A gentleman.” 

But then Herbert paused, and thought to himself, 
“ That will do so far, but what next ? Why, I may as 
well say I have two ponies and a groom. No, that will 
not do ; the question is not what I have, but what I am. 


140 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Well, then, let me see, what else am I ? I am sure I 
don’t know. I could say I am a huntsman, but that 
would not look well alone. I cannot say I am anything 
in the way of study ; nor yet in the way of nature ; for 
I am not a naturalist, nor a botanist, nor a gardener. 
Let me see ; what should a gentleman be ? Why, he 
should be polite, but papa says I am too forgetful of 
other people’s comfort to be polite, though I try at it 
sometimes. Am I generous ? I am afraid not ; be- 
cause my thoughts, and my time, and money, have all 
been spent on myself. 0 dear, what am I ? If I am 
not polite, and not generous, perhaps I am not a gen- 
tleman yet, but only a boy ! I will write that ; but 
then, what am I besides ? I am sure I don’t know. I 
am just nothing ; I have been no use to any one, and 
no comfort to anybody ! I will write that down ; but 
no, that is only what I am not; and papa said, I was 
to write what I am. Well, then, I see it is no use 
looking on the bright side, I cannot find myself there, 
so I may as well come to the dark side at once; I 
shall have no difficulty then!” So Herbert took a fresh 
sheet. 

Question. “ What am I ?” 

Answer. “An English boy.” 

“ Passionate, selfish, sinful.” 

“I have forsaken the Guide of my youth, and forgot- 
ten the word of God ; but I hope I have found the 


HERBERT AND HIS FRIEND. 


141 


heavenly Counselor, and that he will lead me in a better 
way. Herbert Clifford.” 

Herbert folded it up, and took it to his father’s 
study. He found his father there, and said, “I don’t 
want to disturb you, p^ipa; I have only brought you 
what you wished ; it’s dreadful, but it’s true ! You can 
read it, papa, for you know it all.” 

His father took the paper, and looked upon it ; then, 
taking his conscience-stricken child to his embrace, 
said, “ My precious boy ! you have found the truth ; 
or, rather, the truth has found you : ‘ Take fast hold of 
her, let her not go, keep her, for she is thy life ;’ then 
shall your path be ‘ as the shining light, that shineth 
more and more unto the perfect day.’ ” 

Again that night Herbert turned to the book that 
his heart, and not his head alone, remembered now; 
and from the second chapter of St. Jam ?s he read: 
“ Hearken, my beloved brethren, hath not God chosen 
the poor of this world, rich in faith, and heirs of the 
kingdom which he hath promised to them that love 
him?” 

Could he help thinking of old Willy ? not now as a 
poor helpless old man, shivering with cold, but as rich 
in faith — had not Herbert found him to be so ? and an 
heir to a kingdom, eternal in the heavens ; and, think- 
ing on these things, Herbert fell asleep on his pil- 


142 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


low, while a radiant angel, like the one which watched 
over old Willy, kept guard through the night over the 
sleeping boy ; and bright dreams of warm hearths, 
and glad faces, and open Bibles, and love around 
him everywhere, made sweet the slumbers of the happy 
child. 


HERBERT AND OLD WILLY. 143 


CHAPTER YIH. 

HERBERT’S CARE FOR OLD WILLY. 

The rich and poor meet together : the Lord is the maker of them 
all. — P roverbs xxii, 2. 

Herbert awoke. He looked at his watch ; it was 
half past five o’clock; so, rising with the vigor of a 
resolved will, he set forth again in the darkness, his 
thoughts busy with his work, and how he should man- 
age it all without Jem, till, silent and dim in the 
distance, he saw the cottage where old Willy dwelt. 
He quickened his steps, and as he drew near he heard 
the sound of a heavy stroke. He listened and heard it 
again, and then an encouraging voice, saying, “Well 
there, to be sure, ’tis as well to give in, when it must 
come to that in the end !” and the sound of a log falling, 
as if thrown up, fell on Herbert’s ear. There was no 
mistaking the tone or words of the speaker. “ It is 
Jem, I declare!” said Herbert to himsel/, as, without 
waiting to reach the stile, he scrambled over the 
hedge. 


144 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

“ Why, Jem, I meant to have cut you out this morn- 
' mg, and shown what I could make of the old log by 
myself.” 

“ Well, sir, I thought as much. But there’s -none 
the worse for it as it is, and may be there’s some will be 
the better ; for ’tis as knotted an old tree as ever was, 
and stands out against a stroke wonderful.” 

“ Why, you have not cut away these three logs this 
morning, Jem, have you ?” 

“ No, sir, I got a stroke or two last evening in my 
way home ; for this time of the year the sun lingers abed 
till I often wish he was up a bit earlier ; but I suppose 
he comes right to his time for all that, for our Mercy is 
often singing before ’tis light, 

“ ‘ My God, who makes the sun to know 
His proper hour to rise/ ” 

“ Yes,” replied Herbert ; and he tried to remember a 
little astronomy, to establish himself in Jem’s simple be- 
lief of the sun coming right to its time ; but it \yould not 
just then occur to his mind, so he gave all his thoughts 
to the log. 

“ Why, Jem, I declare you have split the tree half its 
length !” 

“ Yes, sir, that’s what I had in my mind, to split it if 
I could, and then we might hoist it up, for it gets the 
mastery down here in the mud, by being a bit unsteady. 


HERBERT AND OLD WILLY. 145 

But I found I could not get it to halve as it was, so I am 
set to work till it thinks better of it.” 

When three more logs were off, the split was effected, 
a large-sized piece was separated, which Jem raised up 
to Herbert from below, and then fastened two cords he 
had brought from the farm, one at each end of the log, 
and by dint of pulling, and groaning, and pleasant 
speaking, the remainder was drawn up sideways and 
lodged on the solid ground. Herbert sprang upon the 
conquered tree, and with hat in hand was again pre- 
paring for a loud “ hurra !” when he suddenly remem- 
bered old Willy fast asleep, and springing down, seized 
up Jem’s hatchet, to carry on a practical warfare instead 
of his suspended note of triumph. Herbert could now 
plant his foot firmly on the tree ; the sun having risen, 
its light fell full upon his work, unshaded by the sides of 
the dark ditch, and with old Willy’s light hatchet, and 
Jem directing, cautioning, encouraging, and praising 
him by turns, he succeeded at last, and severed a con- 
siderable log from the old stem. His triumph and in- 
dependence were now at the height, and Jem was dis- 
patched to his work with a warm shake of his rough, 
honest hand, for the help he had given him. 

Another log was separated, and Herbert pulled out 
his watch, to see if he might venture on a third, when 
he suddenly remembered the useful chips. So exchang- 
ing the hatchet for the bill-hook, he set to work in a 


146 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


different fashion, till a supply of chips lay scattered 
round him. Who shall tell the heartfelt satisfaction 
with which he piled up logs and chips at old Willy’s 
still closed door, while mingling thoughts of the poor old 
man, so rich in faith, an heir of the kingdom of heaven, 
watched over by angels, taught by his sister, and now 
warmed by his hand, glowed in Herbert’s young heart 
and beamed in his eye ! With what care did he 
arrange and re-arrange the pile,, that it might look to 
the best effect when old Willy opened his door. And 
then putting hatchet and bill-hook safely away in the 
shed, he made haste to leave old Willy alone to his sur- 
prise ; and turning round to take one more look, he got 
over the stile to set forth on his way home. 

“ O papa, I really feel a man at last ! Only think ! I 
have chopped off two logs, and one alone by myself, and 
now I quite understand it. I know how it can be 
done, and how it cannot. I wonder whether you know 
all about the grain of the wood, papa, and getting the 
hatchet right for a split, and keeping clear of the terrible 
old knots ?” 

“ I know a little about it in theory, my boy, but not 
like you in practice. But I begin to feel a rich man, 
seeing I have a son who can do one useful thing with- 
out his purse ! And now, if we should have to go to the 
backwoods of America, you can build us all a log- 
house.” 


HERBERT AND OLD WILLY. 147 

“ I do believe I could, with Jem to help me. He is 
such a capital fellow ! I wish he worked for you, 
papa.” 

“We must not covet our neighbor’s servant; and you 
see Jem can be of great use to us without being in our 
employ. If he had been my man he would not have 
been your helper in this difficulty. I only think it is a 
pity that Jem cannot come and teach you Latin and 
Greek. Then you might yet hope to take a good 
degree at college, which I am afraid there is not much 
hope of at present !” 

“ O papa, Jem would be a great deal worse at Latin 
and Greek than I am ; and then you see, papa, I cannot 
get the same spirit into my lessons, because I cannot see 
why we should learn things that we don’t the least 
care about, and that are of no use to any one, and that 
only take up a great deal of pleasant time.” 

“ And suppose the young tree was to say that it could 
not see the use of the wind that blew it from side to 
side, fatiguing it every rough day ; nor of the rain that 
drenched its leaves, and yet still battered down ; nor of 
the sun that chose out the hottest time to come scorch- 
ing upon it. I suppose you could set the young tree 
right on that subject, and could assure it, that though it 
might find the boisterous wind, and the battering rain, 
and the scorching sun all a little inconvenient at times, 
yet that it would prove very unfit for its place in the 
10 


148 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


forest or the grove if it got rid of these troublesome in- 
fluences ; what do you say to that ?” 

“Yes, papa, of course every one knows what a tree 
wants.” 

“ And so, my boy, every one that watches over you, 
may know what you want ; and yet you may be at 
present unable to judge. You must take it on trust a 
little while; and rest assured that if your powers of 
mind were unexercised, and your, thoughts uncultivated 
by the study of the lives and writings of other men, you 
would never be fitted to fill your Heaven-appointed 
position in life. You see the use now of making a fire 
for old Willy. But by and by you will, I trust, see still 
greater use in being able to acquire an influence over 
the minds of those who will meet you in your own 
station in life; and by this means you may, through your 
influence over the men of your own rank, make many 
an old Willy warm and prosperous, who might other- 
wise have been suffering from neglect and indifference ; 
but this you can never hope to do if you fail to cultivate 
those powers of your heart, or mind, or head, which God 
has bestowed on you, as needful to the right fulfillment 
of the duties of the station in which he has placed 
you.” 

“ Well, papa, I don’t think I shall do worse at my 
lessons for making up old Willy’s fire. I am sure I did 
better yesterday.” 


HERBERT AND OLD WILLY. 149 

“ No, my boy ; the poor man’s blessing is a drop of 
heavenly dew, descending to invigorate the heart, and 
mind, and head of him on whom it falls. I have not the 
least expectation of hearing that old Willy’s bright fire 
leaves your understanding burning dimmer than before. 
So long as you observe your tutor’s rules and require- 
ments, you may find as much pleasure as you can in 
ministering to the old man’s comfort ; and may the poor 
man’s God make your work and service of love accepta- 
ble to himself!” 

This conversation passed during the cheerful morning 
meal. After breakfast Herbert lingered with his sister, 
as he often did, a little while ; and she said, “ Is this 
useful woodcutting for old Willy the only thing you 
have learned in these last few days to value the knowl- 
edge of?” 

“ No, Mary, not the only thing. I know what you 
mean, and it is a better knowledge than woodcutting ; 
you mean, I have learned that God hears and answers 
prayer” 

“Yes, dear Herbert, and you have learned it not in 
word only, but in deed and in truth ; as only those can 
learn it who make trial of it, as you have done, in the 
way the Bible teaches.” 

“I hope, Mary, whatever I forget, I may remember 
that knowledge, for it is wonderful to think of the com- 
fort that has come out of my trouble; and I feel now as 


150 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


if I knew to whom to go whatever difficulty I might 
be in.” 

“ That blessed confidence, dear Herbert, nothing but 
our own experience can teach us ; how happy for you to 
have learned it so early !” 

After that day’s lesson Herbert rode with his father. 
They talked of pleasant things ; and Herbert felt as if he 
had been more of a companion to his father in his ride 
than he had ever been before. The evening was given 
to preparation for his tutor ; and the next morning he 
was off again between six and seven for old Willy’s. 

“I should not wonder if I were to find Jem there 
again,” thought Herbert, as he pursued his way ; and 
truly enough, there stood the faithful Jem, hewing and 
hacking the remnant of the old tree, while several logs 
lay round it, the fruit of the past evening’s labor. 
Herbert insisted on his own acquired capabilities, and 
Jem was sent off to his hedging and ditching. 

Meanwhile, as soon as daylight dawned, old Willy 
rose, determined not to let the young squire be off 
again without an old man’s thanks. He stood by, be- 
neath the risen sun, when Herbert clave in twain the 
last fragment of the hard old tree. And now Herbert 
might safely shout, so, standing with one foot on each 
of the last severed logs, he gave three loud “ hurras !” 
and then, with old Willy’s smiling help, piled up the 
precious store of wood within the little shed, and 


HERBERT AND OLD WILLY. 151 


so pursued his homeward way beneath the old man’s 



As Herbert walked home, he felt that great things had 
been done — the logs all prepared for use, and yet old 
Willy had not struck another stroke, nor lost another 
breath upon them. Jem had become his friend; and 
that because he had asked and received the kindness of 
the shepherd lad ; for so it was, the w T ay in which Her- 
bert had turned to Jem had won the heart of the 
widow’s son ; and he had said in his cottage home, 
“There is not a thing I would not be after doing for 
my young master at the Hall there, if I knew that he 
wanted it.” 

Jem, then, had become his friend ; and who that 
knows the value of the poor man’s love, but would have 
rejoiced in this? Then also Herbert felt as if his 
parents had never seemed so well pleased with him ; 
his sister so happy, or his tutor so kind. Well might 
his step be swift and his heart light. How many stars 
might he count now, where all was once so dark before 
him! 

That morning, as he lingered again with his sister, he 
said, “ I have such a capital plan in my head. Do you 
not know how often papa has wished I could be down 
stairs of an evening? Well, now I have no more wood- 
chopping to do before breakfast, I don’t mean to give up 
getting up early. I mean still to get up, and do my 


152 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


lessons before breakfast-time ; and then I can be down 
a great pftrt of the evening. Is not that a capital 
plan ?” 

“Yes, indeed it is; only you won’t let this early 
study rob you of the time you want to seek a heavenly 
blessing.” 

“No; I think I should be afraid nothing would go 
right, if I could neglect that. I will tell you what I 
mean to do, Mary : I mean to learn the Epistle of St. 
James all through; three verses every morning; it will 
be the only lesson I shall not have to give account of 
to any one. I shall learn it alone with God and 
myself.” 

Herbert kept his resolution ; he was up morning by 
morning to his lessons, and by this means secured the 
happy evenings with his parents and his sister. He 
kept watch over old Willy ; and, as the days went on, 
he began to think what next must be done to keep up 
the fire on old Willy’s hearth. One thing alone was 
certain, and that was, that he could not let old Willy be 
cold, though no log now lay in the ditch. All his 
thoughts were unsuccessful. He could devise no plan. 

But those who, like Herbert, think upon the wants 
of others, and pray for their relief, are sure to find there 
is a hand unseen working for those on whom they think, 
and for whom they pray. Herbert seemed to himself 
to get no nearer to any further aid for old Willy ; but 


HERBERT AND OLD WILLY. 153 


sometimes that which we think far off is close before us ; 
and our next step shows it plain. 

Old Willy’s fire-wood was getting low, and Herbert 
knew not what to do. Sometimes he thought that his 
mother or his sister, who knew he had no money, might 
some day surprise him by supplying old Willy’s want. 
But Herbert’s father had secretly requested that they 
would not do so. He wished to see Herbert make his 
own way alone, and though he was quite ready now to 
aid him if really necessary, he did not wish to do so 
until he found that it was necessary. Herbert said noth- 
ing, but he became more silent and thoughtful ; care for 
the poor and needy was pressing on his heart. Jem was 
keeping his sheep again. It was not to Jem that Her- 
bert must now look; and once more things began to 
seem dark, and Herbert felt his own comfort was bound 
up with the comfort of that feeble old man, who had 
already been warmed by the labor of his hands ; yet 
still he knew not what to do. 

While in this difficulty, as Herbert was coming from 
the stables one morning, he was met by the gamekeep- 
er’s eldest boy, a child about his own age, who, coming 
up to him, said, “If you please, Mr. Herbert, we have 
gathered a heap of sticks out of the park. Father said 
he thought you might be wishing for dry wood, and that 
we might as well have it ready as not.” 

“What a capital thought !” exclaimed Herbert; “it’s 


154 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the very thing ! but how came you to know I wanted 
wood ?” 

“ Well, sir, father saw you riving up old Willy Green’s 
log before it was light, and he said he never felt so 
ashamed in his life, to have all us boys abed, and you 
working like that. So we were all up the next morn- 
ing ; father called us before it was light, and he said you 
were off for all that ; so we scrambled up the park in 
the dark, and rare good fun we had ; and we got such a 
heap before school ; and the next morning we were up 
and out before you passed by, for father watched. So 
then he thought that was something ! And I asked 
father if I might not tell you what we were after ; and he 
said, not till we had something to show ; but if you will 
please to come and see, there’s something to speak for 
us now ; father said I might ask.” 

This overflow of cheerful words was poured out as the 
poor boy by the side of the rich hastened back to look 
at the gathered wood. Quick-footed they were, those 
happy traffickers in the blessed merchandise of purest 
charity ! And now they reached the gamekeeper’s cot- 
tage. They hastened round it to the little yard behind. 
There rose the piled-up stack of wood which the friend- 
ly winds had strewed all ready for those youthful glean- 
ers’ hands ; branches large and small ; branches old and 
sear, piled up in a stack as high as Herbert from the 
ground. And there, beside it, stood the gamekeeper’s 


HERBERT AND OLD WILLY. 155 

two younger boys, Jonathan and Benjamin ; and there 
stood the mother with her infant in her arms, curious to 
see the young squire’s reception of so new and uncom- 
mon a gift ; and there stood the tall gamekeeper, with 
one hand upon the stack he had stooped to help his 
children rear, with a smile upon his pleasant face, in 
which many a feeling mingled; the consciousness of 
effort for the needy, of labor whose only recompense 
was love, and not the least, perhaps a sense, a welcome 
sense, of one work upon earth, and that the noblest, in 
which his own young boys stood side by side with their 
young master. 

“Well, this is capital,” said Herbert; “capital, I de- 
clare ! you good little fellows ! That was being of some 
use in the world.” And the boys looked on in silence, 
with faces of delight, admitted in that moment to a 
partnership of heartfelt interest for the poor and needy. 

“ It was a capital thought, Linton,” said Herbert, now 
addressing himself to the gamekeeper. “ I was terribly 
done up how to get fire-wood for old Willy just now, and 
never thought of the dead branches about, and if I had 
I should have been a month getting up such a stack as 
this; but now the question is how to get it to the 
cottage.” 

“ Well, sir,” said the gamekeeper, “ that’s soon set- 
tled. I can put the horse in the light cart in a minute, 
and we can soon have it there.” 


156 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Well, I wish you would, Linton ; the sooner the 
better. And, Jonathan, you must run to the stables, 
and say I am not going to ride this morning.” And 
then Herbert, and gamekeeper, and children, aud the 
mother with her infant on one arm, all laid in and 
threw in the gathered branches, till not a usable twig 
remained behind. 

“There, Linton, thank you, that will do; we can 
manage the rest. Now, Richard and Jonathan, in with 
you, and let us have little Benjamin too ; he can hold the 
horse;” so Benjamin was lifted in, and then the game- 
keeper ran to open the gate, and he looked after the 
light cart from the gateway, and his wife from the 
cottage door, the children hidden by the piled-up wood 
behind them, associated in one work with the young 
squire, and that the work of love and mercy. 

Old Willy was sitting with his cottage door wide open, 
for the day was bright, and, sheltered by his fireside, he 
liked to look out on the pleasant face of nature, while 
the sun did gleam a little after the long cold winter. 
Up drove the light cart. Herbert jumped out, and, 
while the boys were getting out, he hastily took down 
the movable stile, and running up the straight garden 
path, exclaimed, “ Here is no end of wood coming for 
you, Willy ! Linton’s boys have picked it up in the 
park ; we will put it all in the shed.” 

And then he ran back to the cart; the boys had 




-- - jrj 


fr^Sf 

- 

— ~^T-— 

— 

~~' ~- ^ _? 


— 



■>^ 7 - 

H - 


^ — _ . 1 f:j-i r. 



' 




































































































* 



















‘ 

* 

' 








































HERBERT AND OLD WILLY. 157 

already tilted it, shooting the wood into the road, where it 
lay in large scattered heaps. Little Benjamin stood at 
the horse’s head, just high enough to stroke the creat- 
ure’s face, which was stooped down in recognition to 
the child, proving also a signal to the horse, that this 
was a time to stand still. Backward and forward went 
the boys, laden with the old man’s wood — who could 
tire in such a labor ? — while with a smile of peace the 
old man watched them at their work. 

“ Come, Benjamin,” at last said Herbert, “ the 
horse understands it well enough ; you may help us 
carry.” 

And little Benjamin came to the heap, and caught up 
a sear old branch higher than himself, clasping it round 
with both arms, his little pinafore dragged up by the 
first stooping act of embrace, running off with it to the 
shed ; and the horse looked round after his little 
watcher, but he saw evident proof that the business 
was pressing, so he did his part and stood perfectly 
still. 

When the light labor was over, labor in which the 
heart eased the hand, Herbert, looking with complete 
satisfaction at the well-filled shed, said, “Now let us 
each carry a log up for the fire.” 

Little Benjamin, as was to be expected, chose out the 
biggest he could see, perhaps because most inviting to 
the yet unmeasuring thought of his infant spirit; he 


158 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

toiled with it after the bigger boys, the young squire 
going first, and when at last, with desperate effort, he 
cast it on the hearth, his brothers laughing at its size, 
his short, sturdy figure overbalanced, and, but for Her- 
bert’s instant spring, he would have fallen himself upon 
the burning wood in this his first ministry of love for 
the poor and feeble. 

“There, Willy!” said Herbert, “now we will all 
shake hands with you, and be off again.” 

So they had each a hearty shake of the hand, but 
little Benjamin lifted his baby face to old Willy for a 
kiss, that being the only token of good-will he as yet 
understood ; and then they all ran down the narrow 
path, fixed in the stile, sprang over it, little Benjamin 
tumbling after them, then up into the light cart, and 
merrily home again; while old Willy, raising his eyes and 
hand, exclaimed, “ Sure of such is the kingdom of heaven.” 

The gamekeeper, still on the watch, was at the open 
gate with his bow and smile of welcome. Never had 
he looked on his young master with such hope and rev- 
erence as now, when he drove in with the light cart by 
his children’s side, from their labor of love. 

“Benjamin was a capital helper!” said Herbert, as 
the child’s father lifted him down. 

“ Shall we get any more, sir ?” asked Richard. 

“ 0 yes, when you like,” replied Herbert. “ It’s 
worth anything to have a store in hand.” 


HERBERT AND OLD WILLY. 159 


And the boys made their bow in response to Her- 
bert’s “ good-by,” and returned to their cottage quite de- 
cided that there was no pleasure now like gathering 
wood for old Willy and their young master ; and it was 
fully evident that old Willy was in no further danger of 
perishing for want of fire-wood. 


160 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTEK IX. 

THE CHILD AND THE OPPRESSOR. 

Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof ; and the 
patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit. — Ecclesias- 
tes vii, 8. 

February passed away, and the morning came of 
the first of March. A whole month Herbert had found 
himself left without the aid of money ; and during that 
month he had discovered that true wealth consisteth not 
in gold and silver, and houses and lands, but in the love 
of Earth and Heaven. In that month Herbert had also 
learned how to becom^possessed of this true wealth. He 
had cultivated prayer, and faith, and effort, and they 
had all taken root within his heart ; there they grew, 
watered by the Divine word, and love from above and 
from around responded to them. Herbert had set him- 
self to learn the lesson that at first looked so hard to 
him. He had turned to the heavenly Counselor, and 
he had found that the knowledge of wisdom was sweet 
to his soul, and that verily in keeping God’s command- 
ments there is great reward. 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR 


161 


Herbert remembered what day it was, when he 
woke, and thoughts of the past, the present, and the 
lature filled his mind. But he knew where to take his 
thoughts now, even to a heavenly Father’s feet; and 
when we take our thoughts and plant them by prayer 
at our heavenly Father’s feet, they are sure to spring up 
and bear sweet fruit, in God’s best time, to his glory and 
our comfort, however bitter they might be when we 
took them there. 

“What can this be?” said Herbert, to himself, as he 
took up a small white paper parcel lying beside his desk. 
It was not there when he went to rest; some one must 
have been into his room after he had fallen asleep. It was 
directed in his father’s handwriting. He opened it; 
there was a note within. 

“Mr dearest Boy, — The pain of a month ago was 
well worth enduring for the thankfulness of heart that, I 
trust, we both feel to-day. I did not wish to make you 
poor, but only to lead you to discover what poverty 
really is, lest you should be deceived by the outward 
show of wealth, and have supposed that, having that, 
you were of necessity rich. But now, I trust, my high- 
est wish may be realized, and you found rich even in 
poverty, if this world’s poverty should ever be your lot; 
rich in the love, and grace, and blessing of God, from 
which nothing can separate; rich in the will, the wis- 


162 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

dom, and the power of effort. I therefore gladly renew 
your allowance of the useful coin, on which I trust you 
will not now place a false dependence and value. And 
as your interests in life are so happily enlarged, I enlarge 
your means of meeting them by doubling your monthly 
income. Only remember, that you will need the 
heavenly Counselor quite as much with your purse 
as without it; it was the wisest of men who said, ‘He 
that hearkeneth unto counsel is wise !’ 

“ Your affectionate father, 

“ H. Clifford.” 

The golden treasure lay folded within. Herbert 
could scarcely believe himself possessed of so much 
money. He put it safe in his desk, determined to keep 
it with the greatest care. Then he looked at his watch, 
for he longed to go to his father, but it was too early 
yet to hope for that, so he took his books. But his 
thoughts wandered away to his new possession, and 
a ceaseless succession of things that might be done with 
it, presented themselves to his mind. A new world 
of living interest lay freshly discovered around him, and 
he had never yet tried the effect of money’s aid on any 
object in it ; so that his fancy was busy with a thousand 
thoughts, and his lessons lay unlearned. 

But suddenly a voice spoke within Herbert’s heart, a 
still, small voice, and it whispered there, “ Every good 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 163 

gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh 
down from the Father of lights, with whom is no varia- 
bleness, neither shadow of turning.” The words were 
familiar to him. He had himself hid them within his 
heart. He had read them, learned them ; they were 
part of the very first chapter he had turned to in his 
time of trouble, and now, in his hour of prosperity, they 
rose up within his soul and spoke to him, and taught 
him now as that same chapter had taught him then; it 
had led him in his trouble to pray ; it led him now, in 
his prosperity, to give thanks. Herbert remembered 
tli at while he had longed to run to meet his earthly 
father, he had not hastened to give thanks to that 
heavenly Father, the Father of all his light and comfort, 
from whom this good gift came to him. O happy 
child, who binds the word of God by memory’s help 
upon his heart, “When he goeth, it shall lead him; 
when he sleepeth, it shall keep him ; when he 
awaketh, it shall talk with him. For the commandment 
is a lamp, and the law is light ; and reproofs of instruc- 
tion are the way of life.” 

Herbert had been afraid to go so early to his earthly 
hither, but our heavenly Father’s presence is always 
open to his children, his ear always ready to listen to 
their voice : and when Herbert had hastened where the 
Divine word called him, then he found that he could 
return to his lessons and learn them, strengthened 
11 


164 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


against the imaginations that before bad led bis thoughts 
wandering away from bis books. 

Now Herbert studied diligently ; so quickly be learn- 
ed that be was able to lay by bis books ; bis lessons all 
prepared ten minutes before the nine o’clock prayer-bell 
rang. He hastened down to look for bis father. He 
knocked at the study door, and was admitted there. No 
one knew what Herbert said to bis father, or what bis 
father said to him. But every one could see the glad- 
ness of Herbert’s face as be came in to prayers by bis 
father’s side. His mother and bis sister were happy in 
his joy, and all was brightness at the morning meal. 

Herbert thought that when he had finished his 
lessons he would go and call on old Willy. He did not 
mean to be in any haste to lay out his money ; he only 
thought he should like to know how he should feel in 
old Willy’s cottage, now that he had money to spend ; 
so after his studies were over he set out for the cottage. 

Old Willy was walking about in his garden, where every- 
thing looked fresh after the rain that had fallen the whole 
of the day before, and the early part of the night. Eighty 
years, old Willy had lived in that cottage ; it was there that 
he was born, and he had never slept a night from under 
its roof ; and now he watched the dwelling’s decay much 
as he watched the failure of his own bodily powers; 
sometimes with an anxious fear lest the old building, 
after all, should not cover his aged head to the last, for 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


165 


it had been left so long without repair that its decay had 
become very rapid. Many people wondered that the 
old man would live in such a place, and still more, that 
he went on paying the same rent for it as they did for 
their warm abodes. But Willy had a hard landlord ; he 
must pay his full rent, or he must go ; and the thought 
of changing that old place for any other, would have 
seemed to him like leaving his native land for a strange 
country. 

Herbert stood in the cottage garden beside old Willy ; 
but a black cloud over head burst in a pelting shower, 
and Herbert and old Willy took refuge within by the 
low embers of the wood-fire. “ I will make that fire up 
when the storm is over,” said Herbert, as he drew out 
the low stool and sat down close in front of old Willy, 
to make kiln hear the more easily when he spoke to 
him. And then he looked round the room with the 
eyes of one who felt that he had money at his disposal, 
but who also felt that he had learned the use of his 
own hands. 

“ Why, I declare,” at last exclaimed Herbert, getting 
up, and going to the middle of the room, “ if there is 
not a hole here a foot deep ; what a frightful hole ! 
Why it is a foot and a half deep ! I could fill up that 
in no time, and lay in a couple of bricks to match the 
rest of the floor, which is all about as bad as it can be !” 

“ No, thank you, master,” replied old Willy; “it would 


166 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

be no charity to fill that hole up. . I could not live in 
the old place without it, and I am often trying after 
making it a bit bigger.” 

“ What do you mean, Willy ?” said Herbert, still 
standing over the hole ; “ such a place as that can be of 
no use except to break one’s leg in, just in the middle of 
the floor here !” And Herbert put his own foot in, 
which went down up to his knee. 

But old Willy made answer, “ Ah, master, there are 
those who know the use of many a thing, that some 
above them would do away with, and never think the 
trial they would leave behind !” 

Old Willy did not mean to make any allusion to his 
log when tumbled into the ditch, but Herbert remem- 
bered it, and stood silent looking down into the hole. 
Then old Willy, rising slowly, said, “ I will show you 
the use of it, master. There is never a heavy rain but 
the old roof drips all over, and just above that hole the 
water pours down in a stream, sometimes enough to 
drown the place. You may see the light through, if 
you look up that way,” said old Willy, pointing to a 
particular place in the roof with his stick, “ and so I 
scooped out this hole, and then, if the rain be not long, 
the water settles there, instead of flooding the old place. 
But if it holds long there, I fall to ladling it out as it 
comes. It is dangerous, I know, for all that, and I 
always keep a slip of an old board over it; but last 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


167 


night it rained piteous, I was up half the night ladling it 
out as I best could, and I left it open to-day and even 
as old Willy spoke, the rain-drops began to drip from 
the roof, and a small stream to pour down into the 
ready-made hole. 

“ Is it always like this when it rains?” asked Herbert, 
indignantly. 

“Ho, master, not when the rain is over ; but you see 
the old thatch was wringing wet before this shower 
came, and it is always bad when the rain holds any 
while. I was dragging about my old bedstead in the 
dead of last night, trying to get some place to lie down 
in, where the rain would not drip on me, and I could 
not find so much as a dry corner to lay my head under. 
I was wholly worn out, and I thought it seemed so hard 
to pay the rent I did so regular, and then not be able 
to find a place to lie down in ! And I sat down on my 
old bed and cried ; but then those words rose up in my 
heart, “ The Son of man hath not where to lay his 
head !” And, O, how ashamed I felt to be fretting 
there, just, as it seemed, because I was like my Lord ! 
He had not so much as a place he could call his own, 
but was forced to go up the mountains, when he 
was seeking after getting by himself alone. And so I 
felt wholly ashamed, and lighted up my fire and my 
candle, and got looking into my book, where it speaks 
about that place he is gone to prepare for the like of me, 


1G8 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


whom the book says he came to save ; and then, when 
the rain gave over, I laid down, and, to my thinking, I 
had one of the best sleeps lever had under the old roof, 
thanks be to Him who gave it !” 

“ But,” said Herbert, “ I should just like to know who 
it is that pretends to let you such a place as this, and 
call it a house ?” 

“It’s a Master Sturgeon that owns the place, sir. 
This house, and the bit of land round it, was left to him 
by a relation. ’Tis all that he has in the parish. He 
is well to do in the world, I have heard say ; but to my 
thinking it’s sometimes them that have most, who >see 
the most use in laying of it up, instead of laying of it 
out ; for if I have asked him once, to be sure I have 
twenty times, when I carried in my rent, to be so good 
as to lay out so much as a few shillings of it on the old 
place ; but he never gave the least heed in the world, 
nor yet to lower the rent, though I never owed him a 
shilling ; so x have given up asking, and now it’s too 
bad for mending.” 

“ Then let him put on a new roof,” replied Herbert. 

“ Well, to be sure that might mend it, but them that 
love money, why ’tis hard for them to part with it when 
there is not a necessity.” 

“ But there is a necessity ; are you to lie all night long 
with water dripping over you, when we should not suf- 
fer a drop to rain through in our dog-kennel ?” 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 169 


“ No, master, it’s very true ; but an old man like me, 
that’s past being any use to anybody, and only lies like 
a burden on the parish, why ’tis not to be expected that 
any one should look after me; and no doubt Master 
Sturgeon thinks the old place will hold out the old man ; 
and then may be he will do something different by it; 
but you see them that are after money, why it’s not 
their way to be after parting with it for them that are 
past being any use to any one, like as I am now.” 

Old Willy had seated himself again in his chair, and 
Herbert had drawn his stool close to it, his face raised 
to old Willy’s ; and now he laid his hand on old Wil- 
ly’s knee and said, “ Willy, dear old Willy ! you are of 
use, you are of the greatest use to me ; I have been a 
great deal happier, and get on a hundred times better 
since I first came to see after you ! I should not know 
what to do without you now ; and no one can or shall 
think you a burden.” 

“ The good Lord above bless you !” said the old man, 
as he laid his labor-worn hand on the little soft one that 
rested on his knee. Old Willy said no more, and 
Herbert sat lost in thought a few moments ; then looking 
up again full of earnestness, he said, “ I tell you what, 
Willy, you shall not lie without a dry roof over you, to 
be rained upon all night long ; I say it, Willy, you shall 
not; and if your landlord has no thought for you, 
there is some one who has, and who has the power too.” 


170 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

► 

“ Yes, master, blessed be God, don’t I know bis own 
words : ‘ I go to prepare a place for you !’ and they 
come in to comfort me after every trouble, like the bow 
’cross the dark cloud.” 

“ Yes, Willy, but I don’t mean our Saviour ; I mean 
some one here who can help you, and who will. 
I mean that I can, and I shall ! and it won’t be 
like the coals, Willy, for I have now the money of my 
own.” 

The aged Willy looked inquiringly on that bright 
young face, in which love for the old man, joy at the 
power, and earnest purpose to aid and comfort were all 
blended in full expression; but he did not say anything, 
for he did not quite take in the idea that any one except 
the landlord, and still less the child at his knee, could 
think of new-roofing his cottage. But while he looked 
in inquiring silence, Herbert suddenly remembered the 
time, and wishing him then a hearty “good-by,” not 
without another assurance that old Willy would 
soon see what would be done to the roof, he took 
his leave. 

As Herbert pursued his homeward way he began to 
think what his father would say to his new promise. 
He thought of his letter Jhat morning received, and the 
only part that awoke a fear was the last sentence in it : 
“ Remember, he that hearkeneth unto counsel is wise.” 
“ Perhaps, then,” thought Herbert, “ I ought to have 


CHILD AND OPPEESSOE. 


171 


consulted papa first, but who that had the money could 
help saying it should be done ! I don’t believe papa 
could, and I will tell him so if he objects, but he will 
not object now, because I have the money all my own, 
and he has never found fault with me for spending my 
own money as I liked, and he must be glad I should 
spend it in keeping old Willy dry ; though his landlord 
ought to do it, yet if he won’t, some one must, or old 
Willy must be left to perish.” 

So Herbert braced up his courage and went to dinner, 
but still he felt some difficulty in telling of an engage- 
ment that must consume his whole month’s allowance, 
entered into on the day of receiving it ; but what could 
he have done better with it ? again he thought ; so after 
being silent through dinner, he ventured, when the des- 
sert was on the table, to begin, “ Papa, I hope I have not 
cut my fingers again, but if I have, I really believe you 
would have done the same, if you had been in my 
place.” 

“ Very likely,” replied his father ; “ I have done so, 
in your sense of the phrase, more than once or twice, 
and it is the experience I learned by such mistakes, that 
I would gladly use to guard you.” 

Again Herbert thought of himself, “ Ah ! papa means 
I should consult him ; I wish I had, but it’s too late 
now.” 

“ Well, papa, I may as well tell you at once, I have 


172 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


been to see old Willy, and would you believe it, every 
rainy night his thatch drips with water from every part, 
and a stream pours down in the middle of his room, 
and he has dug a hole in the floor to catch the water, 
a deep hole in which he might break his leg any 
day, and his landlord won’t do anything to the roof to 
mend it !” 

“ And so my son Herbert is going to do the land- 
lord’s work for him, I suppose ?” said Mr. Clifford. 

“ Not for the landlord, papa. I would send him to 
prison if I could ; but for old Willy. He cannot do it 
for himself, and if no one will do it for him, why he 
must die from wet and damp. What else could I do 
when I had money of my own, papa ?” 

“ You could not do otherwise if the love of God was 
in your heart, and fhe means in your hand, and no 
reason against it strong enough to prevent ; but I am 
afraid there is a strong reason against your doing it, 
which, if you had consulted me first, I could have 
told you.” 

“What reason, papa?” asked Herbert; and again 
his heart sank within him, and the secret wish again was 
ready to rise, that in this case he had let charity 
alone. 

“ There is this reason against it, that there are men 
in this parish comparatively poor, owning a cottage or 
two, and keeping them in good repair, when I know 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


173 


they must often feel the want of all the money they can 
get ; and there is this one wretched dwelling, owned by 
a man who could rebuild it, and not miss the money so 
spent ; but, because he will not spare enough to put a 
dry roof over it, are those poor but honest men, who 
have made it their care to keep their tenants comfort- 
able, to see the aid, never extended to them, bestowed 
on an unprincipled man who withholds the right of his 
tenant from him ?” 

“But then, papa, should old Willy be left to perish, 
because that miser of a man will not do what is right ?” 

“ Old Willy need not perish ; and though I have no 
doubt it would distress him to leave the house in which 
he was born, still we must not discourage good and 
honest men, by aiding a bad one, to save old Willy this 
pain.” 

“ But, papa, I have promised.” 

“O, my boy, why so hasty! Could you not have 
asked your father first? But if we afterward find that 
anything would make the fulfillment of a promise 
a wrong toward others, we must acknowledge it, and 
endeavor to the utmost to obtain the same object in a 
right way.” 

“ Well, papa, I am sure I don’t know who could ever 
have stopped to think of the whole parish of landlords, 
when they saw that one poor, suffering old man. 
What can I do to keep my promise in another way ?” 


174 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ I think the best way would be to go yourself to the 
landlord, and try to awaken a right feeling on the 
subject.” 

“ It’s no use to ask him, papa. Old Willy asked till 
he gave up in despair.” 

“You have not tried him yourself yet,” replied Mr. 
Clifford ; “ and you cannot say that it would be of no 
use till the trial is made. The Prophet Nehemiah, in 
his appeal to the heathen king, will teach us better ; if 
we only set about our requests to others as he did, 
with prayer to the God of heaven, w r e may be answered 
as he was. So do not be discouraged, my boy ; but try 
it in prayer and faith, and you will most surely find, 
sooner or later, that you w r ent not alone to the 
work.” 

“ But, papa, I should hate to see the man. I should 
be sure to get into a passion with him.” 

“ Then you had better not put yourself in his way ; 
for if you have no rule over your own spirit, you cer- 
tainly have no hope of success with another.” 

“ But how could I help it, papa ?” 

“ Only by having more of the spirit of Him -who com- 
mendeth his love toward us, in 1 that while we were yet 
sinners, Christ died for us.’ And, in truth, old Willy’s 
rich landlord is more to be pitied than old Willy. Old 
Willy can suffer but a little time: a little moment, and 
bis light affliction will be over forever ; for he is the heir 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 175 

of an eternal kingdom; but the other must have his 
portion with that rich man we read of in the Bible, 
who lifted up his eyes in torment, and that forever, if his 
heart is not changed.” 

“ I am sure I wish it may be changed, papa, for old 
Willy’s sake as well as his own. But I don’t seem to 
feel any hope.” 

Here the conversation was interrupted, and Herbert 
was soon at his sister’s side. “ Is it not dreadful, Mary, 
to have to talk to such a man ?” 

“ Yes, dear Herbert, I dare say you feel it so. 
But you remember our Saviour was continually talking 
with those who were always sinning against his heavenly 
Father ; and if we follow his example, we may do even 
the wicked good, with the help and blessing of 
God.” 

“ Well,” replied Herbert, “ I am sure that charity is 
the steepest hill I ever climbed ; I get a slip every step 
I try at ; and how to get up again is more than I can 
tell.” 

“ But have you not found that there is One standing 
on that steep hill-side, to lift you up again when you 
fall ? Did not the heavenly Counselor stoop to lift you 
up before ? and did he not show you a friend to help 
you? It is better to fall at his feet, than to stand 
where he is not. And if the hill be steep, there is 
always sunshine on the top. Was there not sunshine 


176 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

for you when you stood on the last of old Willy’s log, 
and saw it all ready for his use ?” 

“ Yes, that was pleasant enough.” 

“ And so it will be when you stand in old Willy’s 
garden, and look with him on the new roof of his cot- 

o ' 

tage.” 

“ 0, Mary ! do you think it will really be done, 
then ?” 

“ Yes, I have no doubt about it, when the right time 
comes, if we do not give up hope and effort.” 

“ 0, dear,” sighed Herbert, “ how glad I shall be 
when to-morrow is over ! I think this is a worse job 
than the old log ; but I will try at it for all that.” 

“ You will not think it worse when the end comes, 
dear Herbert.” 

“ But, Mary, you do not know the end. What is it 
makes you sure it will be good ?” 

“ Because I am quite sure whenever we try to help the 
poor in a right spirit, and a right way, that God is with 
us, and will not suffer our effort to fall to the ground.” 

“Well, Mary, now we shall see. 1 will try to do as 
you and papa say I ought, because I know you under- 
stand all about charity ; and then I will see what the 
end of it is.” 

“Very well,” said his sister, with a smile, “I agree; 
for I know none ever leaned upon and watched that un* 
seen Hand in vain.” 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 177 

Herbert then stood pledged to go forth the next day 
in the cause of the poor and needy ; the young child of 
earth and heaven was to stand, for the first time in his 
life, face to face “ with the man of the earth,” the poor 
man’s oppressor ; no wonder that he could think of little 
else. He went early to his room ; and, like stripling 
David preparing to encounter the champion of Gath, he 
made ready to meet the stronger giant of oppression. I 
do not mean that Herbert ran to choose himself smooth 
stones from the brook for his sling ; no, the weapons of 
his warfare were of another kind. Herbert went to the 
living stream of God’s most holy word ; the pebbles he 
wanted lay there. He went to the very part from which 
he had gathered often before, even the Epistle of St. 
James. He chose the texts he thought would suit him 
best ; and his heart was the sling in which he laid them 
ready for use. He had learned all the epistle before, but 
now he looked upon it that he might choose what seemed 
best for his purpose ; and having chosen, he laid down to 
sleep. 

The next morning Herbert did the best he could with 
his lessons ; but his heart was heavy, and he met his 
tutor ill prepared. Happily for him, he had worked so 
well for the past month, that his tutor readily listened 
to his assurance that he had done his best ; and seeing 
that something lay heavy on his thoughts, allowed him 
to carry on the imperfect lessons to the next day, to be 


178 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


prepared with his fresh tasks, instead of detaining him 
after hours. So at the time of his afternoon ride his 
ponies were ordered round ; and having been in to his 
mother and sister, and asked them to think of him all 
the time, he set forth slowly on his swift-footed Araby, 
and his groom, on young Ruby, followed slowly be- 
hind. 

First he went to old Willy’s to tell him the sorrowful 
tale of a disappointed purpose. He found him seated 
by his wood fire, with his Bible, that constant compan- • 
ion of his blessed old age, before him. Herbert had no 
doubt that old Willy’s thoughts were full of the new 
roof, and he feared that the old man would never trust 
him again after such a disappointment as he had now 
to bring. But the truth was, that old Willy, not being 
quick of understanding, had never taken the idea of a 
new roof into his mind ; he was looking again upon the 
precious words that told him of the mansions in heaven 
that his Saviour was gone to prepare, and he had for 
gotten all about the last day’s conversation. Herbert 
began, “Willy, I don’t see any use in my making a 
promise to help any one, for I can never keep my word 
when I do.” 

“Well, master, I have read in those good sayings 
that stand next the Psalms in my book, how that ‘ the 
desire of a man is his kindness.” I can show it to you, 
for I always keep a bit of a mark tucked in at that, and 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


1T9 


it often comforts my old heart when I think upon 
others, and there’s nothing but a prayer I can do for 
them. Here ’tis, master! I don’t know the numbers; 
not to say where the words are, but you will, if you 
look.” 

“ Yes, Willy,” said Herbert, heavily, “ but it puts me 
quite out of heart that I must not make a new roof to 
keep you dry ! Papa thinks it would go against those 
who keep their houses as they ought, if I did it for a 
rich man who could so easily do it for himself. So I 
am just going to tell your landlord how bad it is, and 
to see if he will not be persuaded to do it himself, but I 
declare I don’t see much hope any way.” 

Old Willy perceiving that something troubled his 
young master, had strained his utmost powers of atten- 
tion, but Herbert’s tone was low, and the sentence long, 
and all that old Willy laid hold of were the last words : 
“ I don’t see much hope any way.” He did not under- 
stand what the hope related to; but his bright faith had 
always an answer to the tone of despondency, so he re- 
plied at once: “ O, master, there’s always a hope up 
above ! and that’s always a leading me on, and sure 
that’s enough for them that have it.” 

“Well, Willy, good-by,” said Herbert, with a sor- 
rowful look at the old man and the old place ; and the 
ministering boy passed away in his sadness, and the old 
man looked with a troubled face after him ; troubled, not 
12 


180 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


for his unrepaired roof, for the thought of that he had 
not taken in ; but troubled because he saw the shade 
upon the bright young face that of late had entered his 
dwelling like the first glad sunbeam of spring. The old 
man breathed a silent prayer for the child, and then 
looked again on the words of life. 

Herbert reached the town, the town where Mr. Mans- 
field lived and little Jane, the town where little Ruth 
and Patience dwelt. The town was reached, and then 
the street, and then the house; there was the name of 
Mr. Sturgeon, in large letters, on the brass plate on the 
door. Mr. Sturgeon was at home, and Herbert went in. 
Herbert took the chair Mr. Sturgeon handed to him, 
and said, “I am come to ask you to repair the cot 
tage of Willy Green ; the roof is so bad that the rain 
drips through all night long when the weather is very 
wet.” 

Mr. Sturgeon’s countenance fell, and he replied: “I 
make a point, sir, of knowing the state of all my prop- 
erty, and I am sorry that in this case I cannot meet 
your request.” 

“Is there any reason why the roof should not be 
mended ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Yes, the best of reasons,” replied Mr. Sturgeon. “ 1 
long ago made up my mind not to lay out another shill- 
ing on the old place ; my wish is to sell it, and I might 
have done so several times over before now, but I could 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


181 


not get my price; and when I have once named my 
price, I never take less, let the risk of loss to myself be 
what it may.” 

“ Do you mean that you would sell the place over old 
Willy, and turn him out ?” 

“Well, I suppose whoever buys it will hardly wish to 
keep him in. The fact is, that three cottages might be 
built on that piece of land, and three times the money 
made of it. I do not wish to undertake the thing my- 
self, but I mean to sell it as a piece capable of bringing 
in three times the money it has done.” 

“ It would break old Willy’s heart to turn him out,” 
said Herbert, earnestly ; “ and you would not like to 
take away all his comfort for a little more money ?” 

“ Indeed, sir, I am sorry for the old man ; but if his affec- 
tion is so strong for brick and mortar, I am afraid I can- 
not engage to secure his comfort to him. I look upon 
money as a means of comfort to many. I am a general 
supporter of charitable institutions, but if I turned out 
of my way for the fancies of every old man or old 
woman, I must soon curtail my charities.” 

“But,” said Herbert, “when our way is not God’s 
way, it is best to turn out of.it, is it not?” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir, I do not understand you,” 
replied Mr. Sturgeon. 

Then Herbert took the first of his treasured pebbles 
from the brook ; even his first text from St. James, and 


182 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


lie replied, “ The Bible says, that ‘ the Lord is very pitiful 
and of tender mercy that is God’s way.” 

“Indeed I hope so,” replied Mr. Sturgeon; “or 
I am afraid the best of us will stand but a poor chance.” 

“But,” added Herbert, taking another of his texts, 
“ the Bible says, also, that 1 he shall have judgment 
without mercy, that hath showed no mercy;’ so won’t you 
show mercy to old Willy ?” 

“ You want me,” replied Mr. Sturgeon, “ for the sake 
of one old man, to curtail my means of bestowing charity 
on the many.” 

Herbert had tried hard to keep his indignation down, 
but now it rose, and he replied, “You have taken old 
Willy’s rent for a place not fit for any one to live in, and 
you can never do charity with such money ! God asks 
poor people in the Bible, if rich men have oppressed them ? 
and will you not be afraid when God asks old Willy ?” 

Mr. Sturgeon replied, “I must be allowed my own 
opinion of justice as well as you. The old man would 
not stay, I suppose, if the place was not worth more to 
him than the money he pays. There is nothing but his 
own will to detain him.” 

“ But there is not an empty cottage in the village,” 
replied Herbert, “ to which old Willy could go, if he 
wished ever so much.” 

Mr. Sturgeon replied, “Every one knows there is a 
house large enough to receive him close by ; and for my 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


183 


part I think the work-house the best place for inch help- 
less old people.” 

“ O, Mr. Sturgeon, you do not understand the thing, 
and so you do wrong, and think it right. Old Willy is 
not helpless ; he can do everything for himself, and read 
the Bible too; and if he were forced to go into that 
heap of people in the work-house he would lose all his 
quiet. The Bible says, ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor 
as thyself.’ ” 

This was the last pebble Herbert had chosen for his 
sling; the last selected text from St. James, but the 
oppressor felt it not. 

Mr. Sturgeon only replied, “ My principle, sir, is, ‘ Let 
every one see to his own interest ;’ and in a free country 
like ours, where the laws are good, and the observance 
of them strictly enforced, I do not know a principle like- 
ly to work better for all.” 

“ Have you read the last chapter of the Epistle of St. 
James ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Certainly I have, sir ; I am fully acquainted with all 
you may wish to urge on such a foundation.” 

“ Will you not then put a new roof over old Willy, 
with the money he has so long paid you for rent ?” 

“ I have given you my answer, sir, and I must de- 
cline all interference between me and my tenant.” 

“Then I must wish you good-day, Mr. Sturgeon; and 
may old Willy’s God forgive you !” 


184 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Herbert rode away. When free from the town, large 
tears came fast. He felt overcome with his effort, but 
the sweet air kissed his burning cheeks, and breathed 
over his temples ; he looked up into the clear blue sky, 
as only the child of the holy Heaven can look. Yet his 
heart was heavy, and on his face the shades of sin and 
sorrow rested ; how could it be otherwise ? He would 
not pass old Willy’s house ; he felt as if he could not 
bear to see the old man on this his sad return, so he 
took the further road to his home, which led round by 
Mr. Smith’s farm. Suddenly Jem appeared in sight, 
coming along the distant road. He had' just folded his 
sheep, and w r as returning home to his supper. A 
moment more, and Araby bore his young master to the 
side of honest Jem. Jem stood still, and Herbert threw 
himself from his saddle, intent on his subject of thought, 
and stood leaning on Araby’s neck, the most effectual 
way of keeping his impatient steed quiet. 

“0, Jem,” said Herbert, “there ^is no one in the 
world I should have been so glad to meet as you ! I 
am in another trouble, and if you cannot help me there 
is no one can now. Old Willy’s roof lets all the rain- 
drops through upon him ; I have been to his landlord, 
and he will not do anything, but talks of selling the 
place over his head. It will break old Willy’s heart. 
What can be done ?” 

Jem passed his hand across his forehead. “ Well, sir, 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


185 


excuse me; but one thing at a time, as the saying is, 
and may be we shall manage them all.” 

“ What, do you see any hope, Jem J” 

“ Well, sir, ’tis a hard case when hope be clean gone ; 
but the roof, did you say that’s bad ?” 

“ Yes, terribly bad, holes all over.” 

“May be I could stop them up,” said Jem; “master 
would not be against letting me have a little straw for 
that, that’s certain.” 

“No, Jem ; old Willy says it’s past all mending; and 
so I am sure it is : why, it drips all over when the rain 
lasts any time.” 

“That’s a hard case,” replied Jem, “when mending 
won’t do it and there’s none to make, as the saying is. 
But I never found the trouble yet that I didn’t see a 
light through, when I had been after it a bit, and may 
be I shall in this.” 

“ 0, that’s right, Jem ; I don’t mind anything now I 
have met you ! But what do you think of that wretched 
landlord saying he means to sell the old place, when he 
can get his price for it ?” 

“ Well, sir, 4 when ’ is a, long day, sometimes longer 
than they think for that fix it. And there’s more than 
one to be considered in this, I take it !” 

“ What do you mean, Jem ?” 

“ Why, sir, when my poor mother was left a widow, 
apd I was but a child with nothing to look to but her, 


186 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


many’s the time I have seen her cast down till her spirits 
were wholly gone, and then she would say, ‘Well, child, 
“The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord,” and 
so things may turn yet!’ And, to be sure, how they 
did turn ! Once, I remember, we were as near as any- 
thing to being sent right away to our own parish, where 
we had not a creature to look to ; mother took on won- 
derfully. She was always praying and fretting about it, 
and then at the last they turned the right way for us to 
stay. So I have never forgot that saying. I take it to 
be from the Bible, and that it’s a certain thing, if the 
Lord holds him that has the biggest power, he 
holds them too that have the less ; and so may be the 
landlord won’t have his way with old Willy after 
all !” 

“That’s right, Jem; I shall think so too. How glad 
I am I met you ! Good-night !” and Herbert gave him 
a hearty shake of the hand, to which gratitude, hope, 
and affection all lent their force, and springing again on 
swift-footed Araby, was soon at the door of his home. 
The shade had passed from his brow, the weight from 
his young spirit; the chill of the cold-hearted oppressor 
lost in the sense of Jem’s voice of hope and hand of 
power, and the spirit of the rich boy leaned on the poor 
boy, as the honeysuckle depends on some stem of sturd- 
ier growth, which the God of nature has caused to spring 
up at its side. 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


187 


Meanwhile Jem went home to his supper. The frugal 
meal was waiting his return ; a log blazing on the hearth ; 
Mercy sitting close beside it, knitting him a pair of stock- 
ings, the worsted bought with the money saved by 
the fire-wood which set aside the expense of coal. His 
mother at work in her large old spectacles that fastened 
by a spring on her nose. They soon sat down to sup- 
per : Jem was unusually silent. 

“What’s the matter of it, boy?” at last asked his 
mother ; “ you are not thinking about your supper, I’m 
sure.” 

“ Well, no, mother, I suppose I was not,” said Jem, 
going on no less thoughtfully with his meal. After sup- 
per, Jem took his hat and went out, saying he had not 
done yet for the night. 

“He is working at something,” said his mother; 
“ may be he will tell us after a bit.” 

Jem walked thoughtfully along, his feet seemed to 
guide him, rather than he them, up to the farm. He 
looked at his folded sheep, but it was plain his thoughts 
were away, for he took no notice of the bleat of his fa- 
vorite Iamb, which had heard its shepherd’s step, and 
pressed its white head against the pen that shut it in. 
Jem came round by the back of the farm ; a storm was 
gathering in the evening sky; Jem looked at it, then 
anxiously around. He was standing in the stack-yard, 
and on the further side of it his eye fell on a large old 


188 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


tarpaulin, tliat had been used the evening before to 
cover over a stack only partly removed to the barn; the 
remainder had now been carried in, and the tarpaulin 
not yet put away. “’Tis the very thing!” exclaimed 
Jem, and as he spoke he hastened to the back door of 
the farm. 

“You are wanted, Master William, if you please,” 
said Molly, at the open door of the keeping-room, and 
William went out to the door of the back kitchen. 

“Well, Jem, anything wrong with the sheep?” asked 
William. 

“No, sir; I wish all was as right with others as 
’tis with them, and then I had not need be after dis- 
turbing you.” 

“Never mind that; what’s the matter now?” 

“ Why, Master Green’s roof lets all the wet through 
upon him, and there’s a terrible storm now coming up, 
and I don’t seem as if I could rest if he is to be rained 
upon all night long.” 

“Well, but what can be done?” asked William; 
“there’s no time and no light to be mending it to- 
night.” 

“No, it’s not mending will do it; it’s past all that; 
the more shame to them who have suffered it.” 

“ But what can be done then ? You can’t make a 
new roof, I suppose, and to-night into the bargain.” 

“ Why, that’s just what I was thinking if I could ; for 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


189 


as I came down by the barn, I saw the old tarpaulin 
lying there ; now the old roof is no bigness but what 
that would cover it, and I’ll be bound not a drop would 
get through, if it rains ever so.” 

“ Well, to be sure, that is a new roof after a fashion,” 
replied William ; “ and if the old tarpaulin was mine, 
you should have it in a minute ; I am only afraid it will 
go against father to lend. But you wait about, and T 
will hear what he says.” 

Away turned Jem, to stand and look at things with 
out seeing them, and back went William to the keeping- 
room. His father was resting in his chair by the fire, 
and his mother was busy at her needle. William stood 
a minute at the window, looking out at the gathering 
cloud ; then walking up to the fire, he said, “ There’s a 
terrible storm coming up to-night.” 

“ It’s a good thing it held fine to clear in the stack,” 
observed Farmer Smith. 

“Yes, it was a good thing for the wheat,” replied 
William ; “ but it will not be a good thing for them that 
have not a dry roof over them to-night, by what I can see.” 

41 Who do you mean asked Farmer Smith, look- 
ing up. 

“Why old Willy Green,” replied William; “I find he 
might all as well lie in our fields, and better under one 
of our hedges, for all the shelter he gets from that 
moldy roof of his.” 


190 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ There’s the more to answer for by them that suffer 
it,” observed Farmer Smith. 

“ Well, father, that’s just what I was thinking ; I don’t 
see how we can suffer him to lie so.” 

“ ’Tis his landlord, not us,” said Farmer Smith ; 
“ what can we do? Make a new roof for every hard- 
hearted man that won’t keep his own tenants dry ? 
That’s not my idea of charity.” 

“No, father; but there’s that old tarpaulin lying 
down in the stack-yard ; if we were to draw that over 
the roof, he would lie as dry as we do.” 

“ And I should like to know what we are to do with 
out it?” 

“ Why, you know, father, we have housed the last 
stack to-day ; we are sure not to want it before harvest. 
We have others, and better too, for the wagons.” 

u Well, I can’t say I take to it,” said Farmer Smith ; 
“ I am always ready to give a trifle, but if you once 
take up with lending, you never know what’s youi 
own.” 

Impatience had long been gathering in Mrs. Smith’s 
face, and at these last words she broke silence : “ Yes, 
Mr. Smith, that’s all the difference ; you are always for 
giving, giving, giving, till no one knows the end of it. 
I say, let them earn an honest penny that may do them 
some good, instead of all your givings, or lend them a 
bit if they be hard pressed, and let them work it out * 




Page 191 














CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 


191 


but no, you will always be giving, and taking out the 
little spirit that is in them ; and now, when an old tar- 
paulin lies down in the yard, you won’t let the boy 
roof over the best man in the parish, and the oldest toe, 
because you will stand out against lending. It’s too 
much for me, Mr. Smith, I declare!” 

“Well, I suppose you are right,” replied Farmer 
Smith, in a grave, low tone ; “ I won’t stand against it, 
boy.” 

William was sorry for his mother’s rough words, but 
he could not say anything, so he hastened off to Jem, 
who was watching for the first sound of the latch of the 
back-kitchen door, and off set William and Jem, hast- 
ening off together, with the tarpaulin between them. 
They laid it down at old Willy’s door till they returned, 
each with a thatcher’s ladder, and then by climbing and 
scrambling, and stretching and pulling, the old roof was 
covered over, the covering made fast by the strings at 
its corners ; and now the storm might come, old Willy 
would sleep dry beneath it. 

Herbert was leaning back on a sofa in the drawing- 
room, while his sister played upon her harp. A bock 
was in his hand, but he was not reading ; his thoughts 
were with old Willy. A servant entered and asked of 
Herbert, “ Can you be spoken with to-night, sir ?” 

Herbert sprang up and went out ; Jem stood in the 
hall. “ I beg pardon, sir,” said Jem ; “I thought may 


192 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


be you would like to know we have roofed it in as dry 
as dust.” 

“ Has Mr. Sturgeon been there, then ?” said Herbert. 

“No, sir; to my thinking, he is best away; there are 
some- that seem to have no good to bring with them 
when they do come, but Master William has roofed it 
all over with an old tarpaulin from the farm. Daddy’s 
as pleased as anything ; he says he shall be lying awake 
to feel the comfort of it.” 

“ How came you to think of that ?” asked Herbert, 
in delighted surprise at the work already done. 

“ Well, sir, I saw the old tarpaulin lie, and then the 
thought came to me ; but Master William it was that 
gained it.” 

Herbert went back with his brightest smile. “ O Mary, 
it’s done, it’s done !” 

“ What is done ?” asked Miss Clifford. 

“ Why, old Willy’s roof all covered over as dry as 
possible. Jem and young Smith have covered it over 
with an old tarpaulin !” His sister smiled and said, 
“ Then we have seen that the end is good.” And with 
Herbert still leaning at her side, she sang to her harp a 
psalm of thanksgiving. 

“ Papa,” said Herbert, after a while, “ I don’t see that 
money is of much use in charity ; at least, I don’t find 
it so.” 

“ Wait till the call for it comes, my boy, as sooner or 


CHILD AND OPPRESSOR. 193 


later it is sure to come, and then give it free.y. The 
mistake is when we think money can do every- 
thing. It has its distinct work, like other creatures of 
God, and when we apply it amiss we do harm with it 
instead of good.” 

That night, as Fanner Smith read in his mother’s 
Bible, the words met his eye, “ Do good and lend, 
hoping for nothing again ; and your reward shall bo 
great, and ye shall be the children of the Highest : for 
he is kind unto the unthankful and the evil.” Luke vi, 
35. And the peaceful sense of its being a Divine com- 
mand he had obeyed, came down into Farmer Smith’s 
heart, and the oil and wine of the living Word poured 
into and healed the wound rough words had left. 
From that day Farmer Smith was as willing to lend as 
to give, when his judgment approved the case. 

Sweet was the slumber of the ministering boys that^ 
night, within the Hall, the farm-house, and. the cottage, 
«md sweet the link between them. And pleasant 
thoughts smoothed the old man’s pillow, as dry and 
warm through the youthful love of earth, he turned to 
rest beneath the shadow of the Eternal, turned to the 
well-spring, whence those bright and blessed rills of 
human sympathy had risen and flowed to his aged feet. 


194 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER X. 

OLD WILLY’S TRIAL. 

Let mine outcasts dwell with thee. Be thou a covert to them from 
the face of the spoiler. — I saiah xvi, 4. 

The spring advanced with silent step and hand unseen, 
strewing the earth with beauty. Often did Herbert 
tread the path between his own fair mansion and old 
Willy’s lowly dwelling, the younger and the elder heart 
fast linked in pure affection’s blessed bond. The old 
tarpaulin covered the roof, and Herbert had, with un- 
speakable satisfaction, filled up with his own hands the 
hole in the floor, no longer needed now. 

“ I wonder,” said Herbert, one day, to old Willy, as 
he looked over the page of the open Bible from the low 
stool on which he sat, “ I wonder why you are so often 
reading those w r ords about the mansions in heaven, 
when you know them all by heart ? I should be for 
reading what I did not know.” 

“Well, master, you are right enough, I dare say, but 
it seems to do me good to get a look at the real words ; 
it helps an old man’s faith ; for when I see them, I say, 


OLD WILLY’S TRIAL. 


195 


‘There they be!’ and I cannot doubt them. You see, 
master, the thought of a mansion in heaven for an old 
sinner like me, and my Lord gone to prepare it, and 
coming back to take me to it, why it’s all so wonderful : 
if I could not get a look at the word sometimes, I’m 
afeared I should just be doubting again, though I pray that 
the good Lord would keep me from that ! But it is won- 
derful to come and see them all written there just when 
I want to be building up my poor faith, for then I know 
it’s not man’s word, nor the thought of my old heart, 
but the word of the Lord that endureth forever.” 

Early in May, Miss Clifford was allowed to take her 
first drive. Herbert was in high spirits, and took his 
seat on the coach-box by old Jenks, whose silent joy at 
driving his young lady out again, had shown itself in 
his attitude, as holding reins and whip in his right hand, 
he had leaned down from the carriage-box to see her safely 
seated within ; and then boAving in response to her 
smile, resumed his upright position ; and once more, 
after many months, set forth with the whole of his 
master’s family for a drive. 

They had not gone far before the old coachman asked 
Herbert if he had heard the news about Mr. Sturgeon 
and old Willy Green. 

“No; what news?” asked Herbert, eagerly looking 
up, all impatience, into the old coachman’s deliberate 
face. 


13 


196 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Why, I thought you must have heard it ; it’s been 
all the talk of the village since yesterday. They saj 
that Mr. Sturgeon has bought that place of Squire 
Crawford’s for his country-house, and they say that he 
and the builder, in whose hands it was, couldn’t come to 
terms, and Mr. Sturgeon would not go from his offer, 
nor the builder from his price, and so Mr. Sturgeon 
threw in that plot of old Willy’s, and by that got the 
place some pounds less, instead of more than he first 
offered. The builder was over yesterday at old Willy’s ; 
no one knew a word about it till then.” 

“ It cannot be true, Jenks. I do not believe it,” said 
Herbert. 

“ Ah ! it is too true, for all that,” replied Jenks, 
shaking his head ; “and it don’t surprise me, for there’s 
something that belongs to money, that when once you 
get the love of it, there is no saying what you will stop 
at. They tell me old Willy never spoke so much as a 
word. It seemed to turn him to stone to find that he 
was sold out in that way.” 

“But do you think the builder will turn him out?” 

“O yes, he has served him a notice to quit in a 
month ; and they say it will all be pulled down in 
another month. Poor old fellow, it will be the finish of 
him here, and then he will be better off, and out of the 
way of them that can trouble him now; that’s my 
belief.” 


OLD WILLY'S TRIAL. 


197 


“ Stop, Jenks, let me get inside. I declare I will tell 
papa this moment.” 

“ No, sir, not for the world,” replied Jenks, driving 
faster : “ if my young mistress were to hear it, it would 
do her more harm than a hundred drives could do 
good.” 

“ Then stop at the pond, Jenks, and I will run across 
to old Willy’s.” 

“ Ah, but then,” replied Jenks, “ I’ll be bound she’ll 
guess there’s something amiss.” 

“ No, I will not say a word about it, but I must and 
will go; and if you do- not stop at the pond, I shall get 
down without.” 

Jenks knew his young master too well not to think it 
better to pull up when the pond was reached. Herbert, 
faithful to his engagement, only looked into the carriage, 
saying cheerfully, “ I want to run across to old Willy’s.” 
And then, without giving time for inquiries, he leaped 
the stile, bounded over the meadow, and was soon out 
of sight. 

But a little further, and his step grew slower; for 
over his young spirit passed the awe of a first contact 
with overwhelming grief. “ How will it be when I get 
to him?” thought Herbert. “I cannot comfort him.” 
A shudder passed over that bright, young spirit ; and 
the boy looked along another path that led to his 
home, and stood a moment in doubt which to take. 


198 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Then a thought of that ministering angel he had seen 
in his dream, watching over old Willy, came back to his 
mind ; and he thought he would venture to go and 
see what the love of God could do for old Willy 
now. 

The afternoon sunshine of the sweet spring day was 
warm and bright, but the cottage door was shut. 
Herbert knocked and waited — no answer came ; so with 
a beating heart he opened the door and looked in. 
There, at the further side of the room, old Willy knelt, 
his hands clasped on the top of his stick. He had not 
heard the knock ; he did not hear the boy’s gentle step, 
nor know that any one was there, till Herbert, having 
quietly shut the door and laid his hat on the table, 
knelt down by old Willy’s side, and said in his heart, 
“ O God, comfort old Willy !” The old man turned his 
pale and tearless face, and looked some moments in 
silent wonder on the boy; then slowly said, “Why, I. 
had but then begun to ask the God above to send you 
to the sight of my eyes, before they be too dim to have 
the sight of you any more.” 

“ Then, Willy, you need not pray for that, because I 
am come; and I am going to stay and sit with you, 
and God will comfort you, dear Willy; I know he 
will.” 

The old man made no answer; he seemed like one 
stunned with a sudden blow; he knelt on with an 


OLD WILLY'S TRIAL. 


199 


almost vacant expression for a few moments, then said, 
“If you be come, why, then, I must thank the God 
above, who sent you so soon.” Herbert waited while 
Willy gave thanks ; and then the old man rose slowly 
and with difficulty, and made his way back to his arm- 
chair. Herbert took the low stool and sat down by his 
side, but knew not what to say. 

After a short silence old Willy looked round and 
said, “They are going to take the old place from me. 
They say 1 must leave it, but I don’t seem to know one 
thing from*another, nor what will be done; and my sight 
is turned dim, and I can’t see the words of the book, so 
now I can’t seem to lay hold on anything ; only I have 
a hope that the good Lord above, who came down to 
save me, will keep hold of me still. Is not that 
right?” 

“ Yes, Willy, quite right. Once, do you know, Willy, 
it looked quite dark to me. I could not see away out of 
my trouble anyhow ; and then I prayed, and then I did 
see a way.” 

“Yes, sure enough,” replied old Willy, “prayer will 
show the way any day. Don’t I see the way ? and isn’t 
it just my Saviour? Sure enough, he says, ‘I am the 
way;’ and now it comes to me, how she I call my 
blessed angel came to me one day, and read me 
a rare, beautiful story about the dove flying back to 
the ark, because there was no rest in all the world 


200 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


for the sole of its foot. I have a bit of a mark 
tucked in against it, for I have looked on it times and 
often since then; but my eyes don’t seem as if they 
could get hold of the words to-day.” 

“ Shall I read it to you, Willy ?” asked Herbert. 

“Ah, do, master, if you will be so good; it will 
come back to me then !” 

Old Willy clasped his hands upon his stick, and list- 
ened while Herbert read the eighth chapter of the Book 
of Genesis, where the mark was tucked in. He listened 
to the boy’s clear voice breathing the living word. Well 
might the old man feel like the desolate bird on the wide 
waste of the unstable waters. But at the words that told 
of the dove’s return and shelter in the ark, his stricken 
heart revived, he raised to heaven his own bright smile, 
and when the chapter was ended, he said at once, “Ah, 
I mind it all now ! it all comes back to me, how she read 
it just like that; and then she said to me, ‘Willy, 
there’s no rest but in our Saviour ; we must be like the 
dove and fly to him, and he will put out his hand and 
take us in !’ I mind it now, how earnest she said it ; 
and, sure enough, I have never seen a ring-dove cross 
the sky at evening, but I have thought of that, and 
prayed in my heart a prayer that I might get to my 
Saviour, and that he would be pleased to reach out his 
hand and take me in. And now I see it plain, how I 
am just like the poor, lost bird ; there’s no rest left on 


OLD WILLY'S TRIAL. 


201 


this «ide of the grave for the soles of my old feet ; so I 
must only be looking after my Saviour ; and then, when 
it pleases him, why, he will reach forth his hand and 
take me in.” 

Herbert left the old man in the light of the faith his 
aid had helped to rekindle. But his heavy tidings 
spread sadness in his home, and left a flush of deeper 
crimson on his sister’s cheek. 

“ Can you think of nothing, Mary, that can be done 
for old Willy ?” asked Herbert, as he wished her good- 
night. 

“ I can think only of One, dearest Herbert ; I know 
that nothing is impossible with God, and that he love's 
old Willy better than we do.” 

W'hile Herbert was in his room that evening, the 
thought crossed his mind that he had not told old Willy 
of his sister’s drive. It must surely comfort him, he 
thought, to hear she had been out, and might soon call 
on him. He treasured up this piece of good tidings as 
the only earthly comfort he could find ; and making a 
desperate effort the next morning, he fixed his attention 
on his lessons, with as few thoughts of old Willy as 
possible ; and having succeeded in accomplishing his tasks 
to his tutor’s satisfaction, he set off as soon as he was 
free again for old Willy’s cottage. He found the old 
man sitting calmly in his chair, his Bible open on the 
table, but he was not reading. 


202 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ 0, Willy, only think, I did not tell you yesterday ; 
my sister has been out for a drive, and she will soon 
come and see you 1” 

At these words the old man burst into tears. 

“ Why, Willy, I thought that would have made you 
glad ?” 

But the old man only wept on ; the frozen fountain 
of his tears had melted at this touch, and the pent-up 
torrent flowed: he wept and sobbed till Herbert was 
terrified. 

“ Willy, why do you cry so ? Is it because they are 
going to turn you out of your home ?” 

“0, master,” said old Willy at last, “’tis a great sin 
to fret against the will of God, but it came upon me so 
sudden. ’Tis the very thing I have been thinking upon 
so long, and praying for day and night — to see her 
blessed feet come in, and hear her tongue again, and 
now ’tis come ; but not for me.” 

“ Yes, it will be for you, Willy.” 

“No, master, no; they are going to take all my 
quiet from me ; and an old man like me that’s lived so 
long a time alone, why, if other folk were by, I should 
not so much as know the words she said : it’s no more 
use for me. 0, I wish I might go to my grave before 
they take my quiet from me ! I shall never know the 
words I read or hear when other folk come crowding 
by; and then, may be, I shall forget it all again. 


OLD WILLY’S TRIAL. 


203 


O, if I might but go, now while I have it in my heart, 
before I have clean lost it all 1” 

Herbert stood in a child’s despair ; his cheek was pale 
and his heart faint ; he knew not what to say, but he 
thought perhaps God’s word might still have power to 
"comfort. He looked down anxiously upon the open 
page; it was the well-worn leaf that told of the mansions 
in heaven. “ That will do,” thought Herbert, “ if any- 
thing will.” So, looking up, he said, “ Willy, you listen 
to me ; I am going to read.” 

Then, with a slow, distinct utterance, he read, “ Let not 
your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God, believe also 
in me. In my Father’s house are mansions ; if it were 
not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a 
place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, 
I will come again and receive you unto myself; that 
where I am, there ye may be also.” And as the boy read, 
the joyful sound woke up the old man’s smile again; 
twice over Herbert read the life-giving assurance, and 
then old Willy said : 

“ ’Tis all there then, just as I used to see it. I have 
been trying all day, and could not get a sight of it, and 
I thought it was all going from me, but now I can find 
it’s all there for me still, and sure enough I must be get- 
ting ready for Him that’s preparing a home for me 
above, and not fretting for this.” And the light and 
love of heaven drank up the tears of earth, and Herbert 


204 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


saw the old man’s smile still beaming on his face when 
he looked back at him from the cottage door, as he left 
for his home. 

But the sense of the old man’s sorrow had sunk into 
the heart of the child, and he walked slowly homeward. 
At last a thought sprang up in his mind, then a resolve, 
and with the resolve his step grew quicker and more de- 
cided than childhood’s is wont to be. On his return 
home he went at once to his father. 

“ Papa, I want to speak to you ; I cannot be happy 
without doing something to keep old Willy’s quiet for 
him. Papa, I think he will soon die if he is taken into 
a heap of people; he says he cannot understand what he 
reads or hears when he is not alone, and all his comfort 
comes from his Bible ; he says he shall lose it all, papa, 
when he loses his quiet; and he wished he might die 
now while he had it still in his heart.” 

“The poor old man’s trouble is great,” replied Mr. 
Clifford, “ and I don’t wonder that he is overwhelmed at 
the thought of the change; but the same Holy Spirit 
who puts good things into our hearts when we are alone, 
is able to do it no less in the midst of a crowd ; and 
even if we did lose the recollection of the holy words we 
love more than anything, our God and Saviour would 
not the less remember us.” 

“But old Willy won’t know that, papa; if I tell him he 
will forget it again, and then all his comfort will be 


OLD WILLY'S TRIAL. 


205 


gone; and, papa, shall I tell you what I have been 
thinking ?” 

“ Well, what, my hoy ?” 

“Why, there are some verses in the gospel of St John 
that old Willy is always thinking about, only he could 
not remember them to-day till I read them to him, 
about our Saviour being gone to prepare a place for him 
in heaven, and coming back to take him to it; and I 
have been thinking, papa, that when our Saviour comes 
hack for old Willy, if he finds we have let him be taken 
away where all his comfort will he gone, he will not be 
pleased* with us.” Herbert’s father remained silent. 
Herbert waited a minute, and then went on, “ You see, 
papa, it says in the Epistle of St. James, that if poor 
people be destitute, and we speak well to them, but 
don’t give them what is needful, it says, ‘ What doth it 
profit ?’ ” 

“How do you mean, that we could give old Willy 
what is needful to his comfort now ?” asked Mr. Clifford. 

“Because, papa, it is to lose all his quiet, and his 
reading, and his thoughts, that makes old Willy most 
unhappy; and you know, papa, what a great deal of 
land we have ; why, there is all this great park ! And 
if I might have just one little corner of it, anywhere, or 
of some field, just any place, then I could build a little 
house on it; one room would do for old Willy; and I 
have two sovereigns and half a crown, and some shil- 


206 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


lings besides! Do you think you could let me have a 
little piece of land, papa ?” 

“ How much do you suppose it would cost to build 
this little cottage you talk of ?” asked Mr. Clifford. 

“ I don’t know, papa, perhaps a great deal. I could 
help make it, I know I could ; and I would sell Ruby to 
build it, and do without a groom; Jenks could see to 
Araby’s being looked after. I would part with Araby 
sooner than have old Willy die in that way. Jenks 
could be sure to get him a good master;” and the tears 
of mingled feelings gathered in Herbert’s eyes. “ Would 
not that do, papa ?” 

“Yes, indeed it would, my boy; less than that, I 
hope.” 

“0, then, papa, do you think you will let me build 
it ?” 

“ I will certainly think it over, and try to decide on 
what may seem best. I do not refuse your petition, 
God forbid I should ; but I must take a little time 
to consider what can best be done.” 

And so the weight of despair was lifted at once from 
the child’s young heart, and his buoyant spirits rose 
again with the chastened brightness only gathered by 
those who tread the path of sympathy and love. And 
now he went day by day with cheerful step to see old 
Willy. He had learned how to refresh the weary soul, 
and replenish the sorrowful soul, even from the well of 


OLD WILLY’S TRIAL. 


207 


the living word ; and now he would open the book at 
some one of the many marks tucked in, and the at- 
tempt never failed to brighten the old man’s eyes and 
lips with the smile of joy and peace in believing. 
Meanwhile, old Willy, relieved by the tears he had shed 
at thoughts of his lady’s visit, began to recover more 
use of his aged senses, and could manage to make out 
all the most familiar passages of Holy Scripture, and he 
bowed in meek submission to whatever might befall, 
while he tried to set his affections more entirely on 
things above, and not on things on the earth. 

“Herbert, I want you,” said Mr. Clifford, one morn- 
ing, not many days after the conversation about the 
cottage. Herbert ran from the lawn to his father’s 
study. 

“ There ; I have considered your request, and I now 
give you the title-deeds, by which I make you sole pos- 
sessor of a piece of land suitable to your purpose. 
There is an old cottage upon it, and I think you will 
find it better worth while to repair than build ; and 
perhaps with a little of your father’s help, the ponies 
may not have to go.” 

“ O, papa ! have you done it then ?” asked Herbert, 
taking the parchment, and looking eagerly upon it. 
“What does it mean, papa? I cannot understand it; 
it says ‘ Roodes’s Plot ;’ I thought Roodes’s Plot was 
where old Willy lives now ?” 


208 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ So it is,” replied Mr. Clifford ; “ will not that do as 
well as any other ?” 

“Have you bought old Willy’s house for me, papa?” 

“Yes, of the builder, for you, with all that belongs 
to it, except old Willy, who is not to be bought or sold ; 
but he is to be kept, I suppose, if you wish to detain 
him, as your tenant.” 

The cheek of the ministering boy turned pale with 
emotion ; he threw his arms around his father’s neck, he 
did not speak, he did not weep ; the clinging clasp of 
those young arms alone expressed that moment’s unut- 
terable joy. At length he said, “ Papa, did it cost you 
a great deal ?” 

“ Not so much as I have spent, many times over, on 
my own pleasure. Not so much as the quiet is worth 
to old Willy ; and not so much as I w r ould gladly conse- 
crate in the service of that Saviour, who, I trust, is pre- 
paring a home -for me and mine in heaven, and who 
has said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of 
the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto 
me.’ ” 

Herbert left his father’s side, but O ! how strong the 
bond of love and reverence with which his father’s act 
had bound him. His father had met him in his heart’s 
first gushing sympathy with sorrow, met him and filled 
his hand with a gift, the priceless worth of which the 
child was prepared to estimate. The occasion had 


OLD WILLY’S TRIAL. 


209 


arisen, and he had seen his parent carry out to the full, 
that parent’s own expressed principle; money at length 
had been needed, and it had been freely poured forth. 
Such moments as those then passed through by the boy, 
have almost a creative power to enlarge the soul and 
ennoble the character. 

“O! mamma, O! Mary,” exclaimed Herbert, running 
into the drawing-room, “old Willy’s house is mine; 
papa has bought it for me, for my very own, and I shall 
be his landlord. I can’t stop a minute till I have told 
him.” 

And off bounded the boy; never foot bore tidings 
more swiftly ; no pause was made till, breathless and 
panting, he stopped at old Willy’s door. It was no 
time to delay for a knock of inquiry ; he burst in at 
once. “ 0 Willy ! Willy ! you will never have to leave 
your home ; papa has bought it all for me, and I shall 
be your landlord, and make you so comfortable. Won’t 
you be happy now ?” 

Old Willy was in the act of crossing the uneven 
floor of his room when Herbert burst in with the tid- 
ings of joy, and now he stood fixed to the spot,, 
where Herbert first arrested his attention, and looking 
up with a bewildered expression, replied only, “Sir?” 

“ Cannot you understand me, Willy ?” asked Her- 
bert, and then, with slow utterance, he shouted, “ Papa 
has bought your house, and given it to me, and I shall 


210 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


never Jet you leave it all your life, but I shall be your 
landlord, and make you so comfortable. Cannot you 
understand me now ?” 

“ All, master, I be afeared it’s but a dream after 
all, and I’ll be a waking soon, and then it will be 
gone.” 

“ No, Willy, you are not asleep ; you know me ? look 
here, it’s I, Willy ; I have run so hard to tell you ! look, 
I will shake hands with you. Don’t you see it’s all 
true ?” 

“What, then, am I to stay in the old place after 
all?” 

“Yes, Willy, and I am to be your landlord, and I 
shall make you so comfortable, and you shall not pay 
me any rent, and then you can have plenty of food. 
Papa will not mind, I know, though he is always think- 
ing of what will be just to others; but everybody knows 
you have paid good rent for a bad house, and so you 
shall have it all back in a good house and no rent. 
Won’t you be happy now, Willy? 0! I hope vou 
will live a very long time that I may take care of 
you.” 

“ Praise the Lord !” exclaimed old Willy, as he lifted 
his hands and eyes to heaven. “ Who could have 
thought of this ?” And then making his way to his 
chair, he added, “ Sure ’tis He that’s preparing a place 
for me in heaven has let down a drop of his love into 


OLD WILLY’S TRIAL. 


211 


his young child’s heart, to keep me a place on earth. 
Who could have thought it !” 

Herbert ran back to be in time for his tutor. And 
when old Willy had mused a little, and offered up his 
fervent thanksgiving, he took his stick and went round 
his garden, and looked again on every aged tree and 
young green plant on which his eye had never rested 
since the hour in which he had heard that he must 
leave them. 

How bright the summer work, how sweet the labor 
that opened on young Herbert now ! How dear was 
every inch of this his landed possession ! Yet was old 
Willy always the first thought of all. And now work- 
men were summoned ; bricklayer’s men began with 
walls and floor. All had to be so managed in the 
warm summer-time, as that old Willy should not have 
to sleep away a single night. The walls were of brick, 
and still firm ; white-washing and a little repair would 
do for them ; but the floor was, as Herbert said, “ about 
as bad as a floor could be !” It was all laid fresh with 
the smoothest bricks, and Herbert, under the bricklay- 
er’s directions, must needs lay the four bricks himself 
under old Willy’s feet beside the fire. 

Then came the thatching, and piles of the brightest 
and firmest straws were laid beside the cottage walls ; 
and the thatchers came, and the villagers stopped as 
they passed, with a lingering look of surprise and 
14 


212 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


pleasure, and bowed with a kindling smile to the young 
squire; and the village children gathered in a group 
outside to see the old house done up at last. And Jem, 
when his sheep were folded, thought not of supper- 
time, but, kneeling beside the cottage, he laid the wet 
straws side by side ready for the thatcher’s hand ; and 
Herbert must needs climb the ladder and stuff in one 
handful, and smooth it down and fix in the twig, to help 
at last to roof old Willy over warm. And when Jem 
was forced to be off the next summer day, and the work 
still in hand, young Smith took his place, while old 
Willy sat calmly within, one while lost in his book, 
reading again of the dove, and thinking how even he 
had an ark found him on earth, and then on to the 
mansions in heaven, where his heart had so long had its 
home; and then falling gently asleep, he would rest and 
dream of the faces and tones of love that met his waking 
senses ; and Herbert would call and say, “ Only see 
how nice it looks, Willy 1” And the old man would 
answer, “ ’Tis wholly a wonder to see the old place, and 
I to stay in it after all !” And once he added, “ To my 
thinking, ’tis making wholly fit for a king !” And Her- 
bert remembered the words that tell how all such as old 
Willy are “ kings unto God,” and the thought blended 
its hallowing awe with the eagerness of a child’s interest 
and feeling. 

At last the house was finished, and Herbert stood be- 


OLD WILLY’S TRIAL. 


213 


side old Willy, and watched the tarpaulin out of sight, 
carried back by faithful Jem, with old Willy’s duty, and 
Herbert’s thanks, to Farmer Smith, its friendly shelter 
being no longer needed now, for it was vain for rain- 
drop or blast of wind ever to try again to penetrate the 
roof that covered old Willy. 

Then Snowflake stopped at the stile, and Herbert led 
his sister up the narrow path, and old Willy received 
them both. Who shall tell the joy within those cottage 
walls, the old man on whose face the tear and smile 
were meeting; the youthful lady, in whose eyes the 
light of heaven already beamed, by whom the old man 
had been led to seek and find a home above, and the 
bright boy, whose heart and life had lent their aid to 
preserve and enrich with comfort a home on earth, 
where the old man might enjoy rest and peace, with all 
his need supplied ! 

And now came the garden, every foot of which Her- 
bert resolved should be turned to account. He set to 
work diligently in the study of gardening books ; and 
was often seen in deep discourse with Dix, one .of the 
under-gardeners at the Hall, who took particular inter- 
est in assisting the young squire. Happily, Herbert’s 
holidays began early in the summer, before the heat of 
the season, that he might, with more freedom, enjoy ex- 
ercise ; therefore he had leisure now, when he most 
needed it, for the improvement of his little estate. The 


214 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


evening saw him planning with Dix, and the early 
morning plying his spade, inhaling the air’s first fresh- 
ness and the scent of the newly-turned earth. 

“ If you take my advice, sir,” said Dix, “ you will 
clear out every one of these old trees. They are 
all past bearing, and stand for nothing but to cumber 
up the ground.” 

“No, Dix, you do not understand. There is not 
a tree old Willy did not plant, or his father before 
him. I would not have one of them touched ; why 
they are all like friends to old Willy.” 

“ Well, sir, that’s reason enough,” replied Dix ; 
“there are two things to be thought of sometimes, 
I believe, when one is apt to set to work upon 
one.” 

Herbert was hasting through the park to his early 
labor, the second morning of his work in old Willy’s 
garden, when at the gate he found the gamekeeper’s 
children. “ If you please, sir,” said the eldest, “ father 
thought may be you could set us to work ; we have got 
our spade and hoe, and Ben can pick stones.” So on 
went Herbert with his willing helpers, and the birds 
sang forth their morning carol over the boys’ young 
heads, bowed low in their service of love. 

“ I guess by what I see,” observed Farmer Smith to 
his son William, as they drove home one afternoon 
from market, “ I guess by what I see that our young 


OLD WILLY’S TKIAL. 215 

squire will be likely to understand how to keep dry 
roofs over his tenants.” 

“ Ah, and warm hearts within them too,” replied 
William ; “I will answer for that.” 

So passed old Willy’s trouble, like a summer-evening 
storm, after which his setting sun shone out in clearer 
brightness than before. 


216 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTEK XI. 

LITTLE ROSE AND THE DYING WIDOW. 

The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul. The statutes 
of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart. More to be desired are 
they than gold ; yea, than much fine gold. Sweeter also than 
honey and the honey-comb. — Psalm xix, 7, 8, 10. 

There came a bright morning in June, when the 
farm was all astir with even more than usual life. The 
sun had not long risen, nor the birds long begun their 
morning song to greet it ; but Mrs. Smith was down ; 
she had opened the windows, flung back the doors, and 
seemed intent on raising an early commotion, in order 
to the earlier attainment of after order and repose. Ah ! 
the child was expected from school that day, and the 
mother would do more to welcome her in act before- 
hand, than in word when she came. And the boys 
were* out early, kneeling on the dewy grass-plat beside 
the cosset-lamb, tying a bit of blue ribbon round its 
neck that had been treasured up for the occasion. And 
William came in to breakfast, with his hands full of the 
wood’s wild -flowers, all wet with pearly dew ; and he 


THE D-YING WIDOW. 


217 


stuck them up in a glass, all crowded and pressed to- 
gether, their delicate beauty half hidden in confusion ; 
but their witness none the less clear, their silent witness 
to a brother’s thoughtful love. 

The day wore on, and Mrs. Smith had put on her 
afternoon gown, and all the house was in afternoon 
order, and Molly had put on the kettle, and Mrs. Smith 
made a plum-cake, the last time of baking, for tea 
that day; and now she looked sometimes from window 
and sometimes from door, along the distant road by 
which William in the chaise would bring the child home. 

“ J ust you listen,” said Mrs. Smith, “ I am sure I 
hear them and Mr. Smith stepped out at the front 
door, and Molly went round to the back, and the yard- 
boy, who saw her watching, shaded his eyes and looked 
along the road. Yes, there they came ; and the boys 
ran to meet them ; and when the horse stopped at the 
garden gate, Rose sprang from the chaise into her 
father’s arms, then ran on to her mother, and Molly 
stood smiling in full sight, and the yard-boy led off the 
horse to the stable, looking back as he went. And glad 
was that evening meal, for the sunbeam of the home 
had returned. 

It was the hay-time of the year, and Rose was often 
in the meadows among the haymakers. One day a 
woman of the name of Giles said to another woman 
working at her side : 


218 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ My mother-in-law is very sick ; I doubt if she will 
ever get about again.” 

Rose heard the words, and her ready sympathy was 
called forth. 

“ Is your mother-in-law very ill ?” inquired Rose. 

It seems mostly weakness,” replied the woman ; 
“but she can’t do a thing for herself, and I don’t be- 
lieve she ever will again.” 

Rose said no more, but she thought of the poor old 
woman lying weak and helpless, and she wished she 
could take her something to comfort her. She could 
think of a great many things, but she dared not ask 
her mother, for Mrs. Smith had not spoken to any of 
the old woman’s family for many months. The old 
woman’s name was Giles ; she lived by herself in a cot- 
tage under the shelter of a lonely wood ; and her son, 
with his wile and children, lived in a cottage that was 
under the same roof as the old woman’s. There were 
no other cottages near, and the old woman’s son had 
been convicted of poaching in the wood behind his cot- 
tage. 

Farmer Smith had dismissed the man from his em- 
ploy; and, if Mrs. Smith had had her way, the whole 
family would have been deprived of employment also. 
But Farmer Smith refused to send away the wife and 
children for the man’s fault, so they still worked on the 
farm when work could be found them. Still, Mrs. Smith 


THE DYING WIDOW. 


219 


refused to take any notice of any of the family. Therefore 
Rose knew it was hopeless to ask her mother for any 
comforts for Widow Giles. 

But Rose had in her possession a treasured shilling, 
given by her father in one of his visits to her at school. 
She had thought of a great many things that might be 
bought with this shilling when she went to town with 
her father, which she was always allowed to do once 
every holiday-time; but she had not yet decided on 
which of all these thought-of purchases would be best ; 
and now it occurred to her that she might, with her shil- 
ling, buy a quarter of a pound of tea for poor Widow Giles. 
Rose no sooner thought of this, than she resolved it 
should be her final choice. So she went off in search 
of William, to consult him as to how this quarter of a 
pound of tea could be obtained from the town. William 
told her that they were going to send in the next morning; 
so Rose intrusted him with her shilling; and by twelve 
o’clock the next day Rose was in possession of the tea 
from Mr. Mansfield’s shop, done up in its double paper, 
of white inside and blue outside. 

Rose managed to get it into her pocket, and felt a 
great deal richer, now that her shilling was turned into 
so much comfort for the poor old woman. But now 
Rose wanted to take it herself, and she was afraid her 
mother would not let her go to the cottage; but she 
remembered what her minister at school had said : 


220 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Ask, and it shall be given you.” And she thought it 
must be right to go and see the poor old woman ; and 
when she had asked in heaven, she got courage then 
to ask on earth. Those who go oftenest to heaven in 
prayer, are sure to have most holy courage on earth 
So after dinner little Rose said : 

“ Mother, Widow Giles is very ill ; they don’t think 
she will ever get about again.” 

Mrs. Smith only replied, “I don’t know anything 
about those Gileses, I am sure. I only know, if I had 
my way they would never be at work on this farm 
again.” 

“ I thought, mother, I should like to go and ask poor 
old Widow Giles how she is.” 

“ And what would be the use of that ? she won’t be 
anything the better for your asking how she is.” 

“No, mother; only then she would know we did 
think about her.” 

“ Think about her !” replied Mrs. Smith ; “ that’s a 
family that don’t deserve thinking about, after all your 
father’s done for them ; and the man worked on this 
farm from a boy, and his father before him, and then he 
must turn against it all, and go a-poaching.” 

“ But if Widow Giles should die, mother, and we did 
not speak a word to her, she would think you had not 
forgiven her.” 

“I don’t know anything about forgiveness, I am sure,” 


THE DYING WIDOW. 221 

replied Mrs. Smith, “ till people show a little sorrow for 
their ingratitude.” 

“But, mother, our minister at school says that it’s 
when people are forgiven that they are often most 
sorry.” 

“ Well, child, I never heard such preaching as you 
seem to hear ; I only know ’tis a fine thing to have good 
schooling to help you to understand what it is you do 
hear; for my part, I have been all my life to church, 
and I never understood our minister’s preaching, not to 
go on by it in that way.” 

“ T don’t think it’s schooling, mother, makes me un- 
derstand. Our minister does not preach about what we 
learn at school ; he preaches all out of the Bible, and so 
j V’n that anybody must understand him.” 

“ Well, child, it’s a fine thing to understand, let it be 
i it will, that’s all I have got to say.” 

“ May I go then, mother ?” 

“ O, please yourself, it makes no difference to me.” 

Little Rose set off, at first gravely and slowly under 
the chilling shadow of her mother’s darkened heart, but 
she soon felt again the sunshine of heavenly truth and 
love in which her own young spirit lived, and then with 
quicker step she climbed the stiles, passed through the 
hay-meadows, and along the lane where the sun poured 
his sultry heat upon her, till she reached the shadow of 
the lonely wood. She stood at the widow’s door and 


222 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


knocked ; no answer came, so she knocked again ; then 
a feeble, anxious voice said, “ Who is there ?” 

“It’s me, it’s Rose,” said the little girl. 

“ O dear, I am so glad !” said the poor old woman ; 
“but I’m locked in ; they have got the key in the hay- 
meadows.” 

“ I will run back and get it,” shouted little Rose : so 
back she turned, forgetful of the summer’s sun, running 
fast along the high, unsheltered lane, back over the stiles 
and through the meadows to where the women turned 
the fresh- cut grass. 

“I can’t get in to Widow Giles; and she says you 
have got the key,” said Rose to the daughter-in-law. 

“Yes, I always lock the door for fear anything should 
terrify her. She lies so helpless.” 

“ Could not some one stay with her ?” asked Rose. 

“No, there is no one to stay, except the children,” 
replied the daughter-in-law, “ and they are a deal more 
trouble than comfort when one’s well; and I am sure 
they would be ten times worse to bear in sickness.” 

“ Could you not teach them to be kind ?” asked Rose. 

“Well, as for that, I don’t know that they are bad 
dispositioned ; but children will be children ; at least, I 
have always found it so.” 

Then off set little Rose with the great key from the 
daughter-in-law’s pocket, and soon stood again before 
the helpless old woman’s door. She put in the key, 


THE DYING WIDOW. 


223 


turned it round, opened the door, and went into the des- 
olate room. No hand of affection had been there 
to leave the trace of its skill around ; all looked comfort- 
less and dreary. Rose went up to the bed and said, “ I 
came to ask you how you are. I didn’t know you were 
ill till yesterday.” 

The poor old woman wept. 

“ I am so sorry you are ill,” said little Rose. 

“ 0 dear young creature, who would have thought of 
seeing you ? They say Mrs. Smith will never so much 
as look at one of us again. Perhaps she does not 
know you are come : does she, dear ?” 

“O yes; I asked mother if I might,” replied Rose; 
“and look here, I have brought you a whole quarter 
of a pound of tea !” 

“ Bless you, dear. 0, if I could but think your family 
had forgiven us ! but they say it’s no use to look for it. 
They say your mother never really forgives anybody 
that has once got wrong. I am sure if man be so far 
from forgiveness, I don’t know how it will be with us 
when we come before God, for sure he has most right to 
be angry. I lie here thinking of that, and it’s a dead 
weight on my heart,” and the poor old woman wept on. 
The tide of anguish was much for a child to stem ; but 
the infant of days who stands at the feet of Him whose 
word is peace, may so receive of Him as by its feeble 
utterance to soothe the storm into a calm. 


224 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


u I am sure God will forgive you if you ask him,” 
said little Rose; “ our minister at school preached about 
the wicked people who crucified our Saviour being for- 
given, and made so sorry for what they had done, and 
quite different ; so I know God will forgive you if you 
ask him.” 

“ Ah ! dear; but how can I know it?” asked the old 
woman. 

“ I will read it to you out of the Bible,” said little 
Rose, “and then you will know it: our minister preached 
it all out of the second chapter of Acts. Have you got 
a Bible for me to read it in ?” 

“No, dear, I can’t read; my son has one, but it’s 
locked up in his house.” 

“ Then I will bring my own Bible next time I come : 
father has bought me such a beautiful Bible, and I always 
take it to church ; so I know all where our minister at 
school preaches from.” 

“ Ah ! dear, I wish enough you could read to me, for 
I lie here, and there’s never a creature to tell me a word 
of advice or comfort. I know I am going, and there’s, 
no one to tell me what to do, or which way to look O, 
’tis a dreadful feeling, dear.” 

“ I will come, I will promise to come,” said little Rose ; 
“ and I can say you a whole chapter now, if you like, 
without the Bible. Mercy Jones tells me the chapters 
Miss Clifford chooses for her to learn, and then I learn 


THE DYING WIDOW. 


22o 


them, as many of them as I can. I can say the whole 
of the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah.” Then Rose began, 
‘Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, 
and he that hath no money; come ye, buy and eat; 
yea, come, buy wine and milk, without money and with- 
out price.” The old woman’s eye was fixed upon the 
child, as death drinking in the balm of life ; and when 
she reached the words, “ Let the wicked forsake his way, 
and the unrighteous man his thoughts : and let him re- 
turn unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him ; 
and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon,” the old 
woman asked, “ Does it say like that in the Bible ?” 

“Yes, it’s all just as I say it; I know it quite perfect,” 
replied little Rose. 

“ Then there’s hope for me !” exclaimed the poor old 
woman ; and, lying back with closed eyelids, she said no 
more, and the child went on. 

“ That’s all,” said little Rose, when she had ended the 
chapter ; “ but I will come to-morrow, if I can, and read 
you where our minister preached about the people who 
crucified our Saviour.” 

“0 do, dear; words like them are life from the dead ; 
why, it’s like as if an apgel had come to bring me 
comfort !” 

“ Have you anything to take ?” asked Rose. 

“No, dear; I was ready to faint away before you 
came, only those words so revived me up again ; but I 


226 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


must wait, for there isn’t a bit of kindling. If there 
had been, I think I must have tried to heat a little 
water, and make a drop of tea to sop this crust in. I 
could not eat it dry, nor touch the cheese; and they 
went off in such a hurry, that was all they had to leave 
me; and the day seems terrible long when they only 
come home once in the noon-time.” 

Rose looked at the fire-place; there was a little 
coal by the side, and a match-box over the mantle- 
piece, but neither stick nor straw. 

“ I know what I can do ! w exclaimed Rose ; “ there is 
sure to be dry wood enough under the trees to make a 
fire in no time.” So lifting up her frock, she hastened 
out, stooping under the sheltering trees heavy with their 
summer foliage, picking up the little branches, sear and 
dry with sultry heat. When her frock was well filled 
she returned ; then kneeling down, her little hands soon 
kindled up a fire. 

But now there was no water. A minute more, and 
Rose stood on the lowest step cut out in the field-side, 
dipping a pitcher in the pond ; then back again to the 
cottage, she poured just enough water into the tea- 
kettle to make one tea-pot #ill of tea; then finding an 
old fork in the cupboard, she toasted the dry piece of 
bread while the water was heating ; then she found a 
small basin, into which she broke up the toast, and 
sprinkled some brown sugar from the cupboard. By 



mimi 


mwm 



Pa.ge 226. 







THE DYING WIDOW. 


227 


this time the water boiled; and Rose, from her own 
quarter of a pound, made a tea-pot of good tea. Then 
filling up the kettle, she hung it again over the fire ; and 
pouring out the fragrant tea, she took it to the bedside, 
while the old woman’s look on her was blessing. 

When Rose saw how the dying woman, faint and 
parched with thirst, received and fed on what her hand 
had prepared, could she fail to learn how blessed was the 
power to help and comfort ? She waited till the repast 
was finished ; then, when the water boiled again, she 
filled the tea-pot up, and setting it with a basin on a chair 
close by the bed, where the old woman could reach it, she 
tied on her bonnet, and, locking the door, ran home, down 
the same open lane, over the stiles, and across the hay- 
meadows, leaving the key with her daughter-in-law; and 
reached the farm just as preparations for the family tea 
were beginning. And calm, and bright, and sweet was 
that summer evening to the ministering child. 

Day after day, when Rose could be spared from- her 
home, she crossed the meadows, and trod the lane to the 
lonely wood, with her precious Bible hanging in its little 
bag upon her arm ; she sat by the old woman’s bed, and 
read to her the words which lead the heart to J esus. 

“ Don’t you like strawberries, child ?” said Mrs. Smith, 
as Rose was gathering peas one morning near the straw- 
berry-bed with her mother. 

“ Yes, mother ; may I gather some ?” 

15 


228 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ You may as well liave them as the birds, I sup- 
pose.” 

“ May I have some every day, mother ?” 

“ Yes, I have no objection.” 

“How many, mother?. may I have my little basket 
full every day ?” 

“ Yes, I tell you ; why do you ask a dozen questions, 
when one would do ?” 

“Shall I gather you some, mother?” 

“No, thank you; when I eat strawberries, I like to 
gather them myself.” 

“ Shall I gather father some of a day ?” 

“That’s as he pleases,” replied Mrs. Smith; and 
Rose went silently on with the gathering of peas. 

That day, before dinner, Rose ran down the straight 
garden path, and filling her own little basket, she set it 
safe and cool under the lilac-tree ; and then gathering a 
plateful, she brought them in, and put them away in 
the pantry till after dinner. When her hither sat down 
in his arm-chair before going out to his business again, 
then Rose brought out the plate of strawberries, and 
offered them to him. 

“ Thank you, my dear,” said her father ; “ that’s the 
way to enjoy strawberries — to have you gather them 
for me, and to be able to sit still and eat them. I have 
no time to stop after them while I am out.” 

When Rose was free to run off for her walk, she 


THE DYING WIDOW. 


229 


hastened down the garden path to the lilac-tree, and 
covering some of its green leaves over the fruit, to keep 
it cool from the afternoon sun, she set off, with her 
Bible on her ann, and -her basket in her hand, to the 
cottage of the poor, dying woman. 

When Widow Giles saw the strawberries, she ex- 
claimed, “ Why if it isn’t the very thing I have longed 
for more than meat or drink ! I thought there seemed 
nothing so tempting as a strawberry ; but if one has a 
penny to spend on such comforts, there is no one going 
to the town, this busy time, to lay it out for one, so I had 
no thought to see any.” Meanwhile Rose had spread the 
green leaves on the old woman’s sheet, and laid a bright 
red strawberry on each ; and the cool fruit was drink, 
and meat, and reviving medicine to the dying woman. 

“There,” said Rose, “I will put all these in a plate 
where you can reach them, and the leaves over them ; 
and you may eat them all up before I come again, be- 
cause then I shall bring you some more.” 

The scarlet berries were piled up, day after day, by 
the little maiden, with eyes of gladness and hands of 
careful love : the dayly transfer of her whole portion in- 
volved no self-denial to her ; she had tasted the “ more 
blessed to give and having drank at that mountain- 
rill of higher, purer pleasure, it was no effort to her not 
to return to the stagnant pool of self. In her young 
ministry of love, self was lost sight of ; not by the attempt 


230 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


to subdue it, but by finding within her reach a far 
higher principle, whose exercise had power to change 
the touching aspect of want, and sorrow, and tears, into 
comfort, and joy, and smiles. A child naturally loves 
sunshine, and is impatient of the cloud ; let them learn 
early their Heaven-intrusted power to brighten earth’s 
gloom with the sunbeam of love, to span its dark sky with 
the rainbow of hope ; and many a child would turn to 
its exercise who little dreams of it now. And is it not 
well to lead childhood onward and upward, unconscious 
of effort, wherever possible? the call for resolute self- 
denial is sure to come soon and often enough ; but every 
step gained unconsciously is vantage-ground, leaving the 
points of effort higher, and involving further advance. 

At last the day came for Rose to go to the town with 
her father ; the long drive, and to walk about the town 
with him, would be very pleasant, but poor Widow Giles 
would want her strawberries. So Rose was up and 
among the strawberries before breakfast-time ; she filled 
her basket, covered it with leaves, and set it under the 
lilac- tree. Then, when William came to breakfast, she 
took his hand, and led him down the garden path; 
and holding back the lilac branches, showed him the 
little basket, and asked him if he would just take 
them to poor Widow Giles, who would be looking 
for them. 

“ Yes, I will see to that,” said William. So Rose ran 


THE DYING WIDOW. 


231 


to breakfast, and then off in high spirits with her 
father, and William no sooner saw them started than 
he hastened back to the tree, and carried the little 
basket at once to Widow Giles. 

Rose came home as full of delight as she went out, 
having a great variety of things to tell, which her 
. mother heard with patience, and her brothers with sym- 
pathizing interest. 

“ Did you take my strawberries ?” whispered Rose, 
the first opportunity, to William. 

“ Yes, that I did, and I was glad enough you sent 
me, for the poor old woman had fretted herself, thinking 
I was as hurt with them all as mother ; and I am sure I 
had not stayed away from ill-will, and if I had known 
she worried about it, I would have gone in to speak to 
her any day, but I never gave it a thought.” 

“ O dear !” said the old woman, clasping her hands, 
as Rose went in the next day, “ I think I can die now ! 
I little thought what a day I was to have yesterday.” 

“ What happened ?” asked Rose. 

“ Why, dear, first in the morning part came Master 
William. It was fortunate enough my daughter-in-law 
was home next door washing, so I was not locked in. 
He came in at the door just as he used! O dear, I 
never thought to see him again, and I loved him like 
one of my own, having had so much to do in the nurs- 
ing of him. He stayed some time, and I saw I was all 


282 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


right with him, and then I thought I could rest, for I 
seemed to think there could never be a hope with your 
mother. Well, I was lying here in the afternoon-time, 
thinking how he came in and spoke so pleasant, 
when who should I see come up but your mother 
herself.” 

“ My mother !” exclaimed Rose. 

“Yes, dear; what, didn’t she tell you? Yes, she 
came herself! I was altogether overcome at the sight 
of her, and burst out a crying, and, to my thinking, she 
spoke kinder than ever, and she brought me a glass of 
currant jelly. No medicine could have done me the 
good of her kind words. I have felt a wonderful comfort 
ever since. It seems to me as if He you read to me about 
had sent me a pardon for this world and the next. I 
had been getting hold of a hope for the next ever since 
that first day you came, but I thought it was all over 
for this, but now I see He that can give the one can 
give the other too. And now that dread I had is 
wholly gone, and I don’t seem to see a fear now, look- 
ing to Him you read of to me.” 

After a few more peaceful days, Widow Giles died. 
They laid her body in the village churchyard, and in the 
evening, when all the mourners and the people were gone, 
Rose went alone and stood by the grave, and she look- 
ed up to the calm blue sky, and felt as if the blessing of 
that poor old widow fell down upon her from heaven. 


- TIIE DYING WIDOW. 


233 


So passed away lier holidays, and Rose went back to her 
school. 

But one little girl there was who had done with 
school, who had learned her last lesson, and was gone 
home forever ; home, not to a house made with hands, 
which trouble, and sorrow, and sickness, and death can 
enter; but home to a house not made with hands, a 
mansion in the heavens, where darkness and evil cannot 
come, where there is no more crying, or sorrow, or pain, 
or death, but God wipes away all tears, and every one 
is happy forever. It was little Ruth. 

Heaven’s shining gate often opens, and the holy 
angels come down to fetch little children home to their 
heavenly Father long before those little children expect- 
ed to be sent for. Then let every child try to please 
God in all things, as little Ruth did, because no one 
knows how soon the call may come. The spring had 
been, and the summer followed, but they had brought 
no bloom of life to the cheeks of little Ruth. She was 
sitting in her comfortless home one Saturday afternoon, 
with her Bible on her knee, learning her texts of Scrip- 
ture, when ner father came in ; something had made 
him angry, and little Ruth trembled at the words he 
spoke. 

“ 0, father,” she gently said, “ we must not take God’s 
holy name in vain !” 

“ And why not ?” said her father, turning sharply to 


234 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the little girl, as she sat on her stool near the sleeping 
infant. 

“ Because, father, the Bible says so.” 

“ And what’s the Bible to me, I should like to know ?” 
asked her father. 

“ 0, it’s just everything, if you did but know it, 
father ; it’s just everything to me !” 

And little Ruth looked up, her eyes filled with tears, 
and her step-father was looking down on her, and the 
sight of her pale, sweet face, the Bible open on her 
knee, and her trembling voice declaring it w r as every- 
thing to her, was too much for the hardened man. 
The thought broke in upon him, how he had left her 
no other comfort ; and he went out of the house unable 
to look at the child again. He never rested till he found 
work, and then he toiled as if he felt he had a life to 
save ; but it was too late for little Ruth ! She seemed 
to have done with earth from that Saturday evening, 
when she bore her young witness to the word of God, 
and when the next Saturday came she lay on her pil- 
low unable to speak or move; her step-father hurried 
home with his earnings, and stooping over, said, “ I 
have brought all my wages ; you shall have everything 
now !” 

Yes, little Ruth would have everything now; for in 
the home where blessed children dwell in heaven, no 
want can ever come. There God our Father, and Jesus 


THE DYING WIDOW. 


235 


our Saviour and Shepherd, and the Holy Spirit dwell : 
there the holy angels live, and all is love, and joy, and 
gladness forever. Miss Wilson had been several times 
to see the little girl, and now she came again, but 
the dying child had done with earth ; she did not 
know her friend, though her eyes were open and she was 
looking upward. 

“ Sure she sees the angels coming for her !” said her 
weeping mother ; “ see how she smiles, O, what a 
heavenly smile !” 

But no one knows the blessed sights that God’s de- 
parting children see ; and with that smile upon her lips, 
little Ruth passed away. Little Ruth, who loved the 
Saviour, and prayed to him ; who loved God’s holy 
word, and tried to please him : little Ruth, her mother’s 
comfort, whom her little sister and infant brother loved 
so much ; the favorite of her school-fellows ; and one of 
the best children in the school : little Ruth, the friend 
and teacher of the poor dying child, passed away from 
earth. Little Ruth was never forgotten by any of her 
friends; nor by her step-father; she was gone far away 
out of his sight, but he could not forget ; he took her 
Bible, and tried to follow its words as she had done; 
and he took care of his two poor little children, and 
made their home and their mother’s happy. 


236 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Seated on the tomb, Faith's angel 
Says, * Ye are not there/ 

Where then are ye? With the Saviour, 
Bless’d, forever bless'd are ye ; 

'Mid the sinless little children 
Who have heard his, ‘ Come to me !' 
'Yond the shades of death's dark valley, 
Now ye lean upon his breast, 

Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
And the weary are at rest." 









CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


237 


CHAPTER XH. 

CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 

Let all your things be done with charity. — 1 Con. xvi, 14. 

“ Papa,” said Herbert one day at dinner, as the year 
was closing in, “ I have long made up my mind to give 
Jem some valuable present this Christmas, and to-day 
I have hit on the right thing. It will cost $15, but I can 
manage it, because I have had the thought so long in 
my mind that I have been saving up my money for it ; 
and now I am so delighted to have found the very 
thing. Can you guess, papa ?” 

“ I am almost afraid to try,” said Mr. Clifford, smiling ; 
“ for sometimes your right thing and mine do not rec- 
ognize each other at first sight, and I may disappoint 
you.” 

“Do try, papa; this is not charity, you know; so 
there is not the same fear; and you must think it a 
capital thing, for Jem is not the easiest person to find 
out a right sort of present for ; is he, papa ?” 

“ No, perhaps not,” replied Mr. Clifford, “ because his 


238 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


wants do not extend beyond life’s necessaries, and his 
own honest hands provic^ those.” 

“Yes, papa, and my present has something to do 
with life’s necessaries, something to do with Jem’s work. 
Now, papa, can you guess ?” 

“Something to do with Jem’s work, and to cost 
$15,” said Mr. Clifford, in a tone of reflection. “ I con- 
fess I am puzzled ; I did not think Jem made use of 
such costly assistance in his simple labor.” 

“No, papa; it’s something quite new to Jem ; such a 
thing as he never had, or thought of having. I am 
full of the surprise it will be to him.” 

“ Is it a watch ?” asked Mr. Clifford, doubtfully. 

“ No, not a watch ; I could not get anything of a 
watch for $15 ; could I, papa? Besides which, Jem’s 
watch is in the sky. He always keeps time by the sun, 
without any trouble of winding up.” 

“ Is it some implement of husbandry ?” asked Mr. 
Clifford. 

“No, papa, Jem is a shepherd, only Mr. Smith 
sometimes puts him to other work when he wants him.” 

“ Is it a shepherd’s dog of some superior excellence ?” 

“ No, papa, Jem has hard work to keep his old 
mother and little niece; he could not keep a dog, 
though, to be sure, that is a good idea.” 

“ Then I confess I must give it up,” said Mr. Clifford. 

M Are you sure you cannot guess, papa ?” 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


239 


“Yes, I give up in despair.” 

“ Well then, papa, I have seen the most perfect col- 
lection of all sorts of carpenter’s tools in a box for $15 ; 
everything you could possibly want. Won’t it be just the 
present to give to one who does everything for himself?” 

“ Is Jem a carpenter, then ?” 

“ No, papa, he is a shepherd, but he does everything 
for himself, so that there must often be carpenter’s work 
wanted.” 

“I think you will certainly make him a little work, in 
keeping his tools bright; for I am afraid his use of them 
will not be likely to do it.” 

“Then you do not think that it would be a pice 
present for him, papa ?” 

“No, I cannot say I do, I think when you give your 
friend a present, it’s a pity to give him a trouble. I 
have no doubt you would find that Jem is quite as inde- 
pendent of carpenter’s tools as he is of carpenter’s aid, 
in his mending and making.” 

“Can you think of anything then, papa?” asked 
Herbert, in a tone whose gladness was gone. 

“ Why not give him a good winter great coat? I 
should say that would be far better.” 

“No, papa, I don’t want my first present to Jem to 
be clothes. I don’t want it to be like charity. I 
want him to see I have thought about how best to 
please him.” 


240 ■ 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“And do you think that charity admits no thought 
of how best to please ?” 

“ No, papa, I don’t think that; only I don’t want my 
present to Jem to look like charity.” 

“ What, then, do you suppose charity to be? Let us 
have your explanation of the word.” 

“0, papa, everybody knows what charity is, though 
I am pretty sure nobody knows what a mess they may 
make of it till they try at it, for it’s ten to one if they 
hit it right when they do try.” 

“But what do you explain this same charity to 
mean ?” 

“Well, papa, one cannot always explain what every- 
body knows, but of course it’s doing for the poor.” 

“Very true, my boy; only # remember, there is no one 
on earth so rich as not to need this heaven-born 
charity.” 

“ What do you mean, papa? you don’t want charity.” 

“Yes, dear Herbert, I do; and so do you. To be 
poor in money, is but one point of poverty ; just as to 
be rich in money, is but one point of riches.” 

“What, then, are you poor in, papa?” 

“ I am so poor, that there is no one I have any inter- 
course with, who may not make me richer.” 

“ What do you mean, papa ?” 

“ I mean that my earthly comfort depends more upon 
that spirit of love, or charity, in those with whom I am 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


241 


associated, than upon anything else; and this is true of 
all. One of the chief reasons of the happiness of 
heaven is, that there every thought and feeling, every 
word and action, is governed by charity. And 
the nearer you come to the practice of this spirit 
of love on earth, the nearer you come to the spirit of 
heaven.” 

“But then, papa, if I could think of anything to 
please Jem more than a coat, I might give it to him, 
and yet not go against charity ?” 

“ Yes, certainly, whatever most proves your thoughtful 
interest in others, and care for them, is the best and 
brightest exercise of charity.” 

Soon after this, Herbert was left alone with his 
mother and sister, when he said sorrowfully, “I declare 
I feel ready to cry. I never felt so sure before about 
having hit on the right thing, and now papa thinks it 
quite wrong ; and papa comes down so grave upon one, 
that the thing never looks the same afterward ; I don’t 
care about that box of tools the least now.” 

“Did old Willy’s cottage not look the same when 
papa had made it yours ?” asked Miss Clifford. 

“O, Mary, you know that was the best*thing that 
ever happened to me in all my life. Of course I did 
not mean that.” 

“ Then, perhaps, you only mean that papa shows you 
your mistakes?” t 


242 


MINISTEKING CHILDREN. 


“ I don’t know, I am sure,” replied Herbert ; “ but I 
often get so full of a thing, and it looks as pleasant as 
possible, and then I am off to talk to papa about it, 
and he makes it look as dull as can be. I wonder 
how it is that I can so seldom think like papa before- 
hand.” 

“ Shall I try and help you to understand how it is?” 
asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ Yes, mamma, I wish you would.” 

“You have often been out early these last nine 
months; have you not observed how different objects 
looked to you in the misty light of the morning, how 
large some small things seemed, and how the dew- 
drops looked like diamonds in the bright sunbeams, and 
the grass you walked upon sparkled with countless 
points of brilliant light and color ?” 

“Yes, mamma, but what of that?” 

“ That is like your early morning of life, my child, 
when, for want of clearer knowledge, many objects ap- 
pear to you different to what they really are. But your 
father has reached life’s afternoon, when the misty light 
deceives no longer, and the diamond dew-drops are gone 
from the earth, and therefore, when he puts things in 
the clearer light of his fuller knowledge, they appear to 
you very different.” 

“Well, mamma, I wish things were always bright. 
I am sure it is much pleasanter when they are.” 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


243 


“They will be always bright in heaven, my clear boy; 
no light or fuller knowledge can ever change the forms 
and hues of heaven, except to increase their beauty. 
The day’s loveliest dawn, and your life’s glowing morn- 
ing, are but to picture to you a little of heaven ; but there 
the bloom and the fragrance, the glory and the fresh- 
ness, never pass away. If we could always keep earth’s 
brightness here, we might seek less earnestly for that 
inheritance which cannot fade away.” 

“I know you must be right, mamma, but still it 
seems sad to have things that looked so pleasant 
changed.” 

“ Many true things are sad on earth, dear Herbert 
He who is himself the truth, your heavenly Counselor, 
was a man of sorrows here on earth ; but in heaven 
truth wears only her ‘ beautiful garments,’ and will be 
known by all who dwell there, only in her brightness 
forever.” 

It was Herbert’s Christmas holidays, and the next 
morning, when he went into his sister’s room after 
breakfast, to read to her, he was still feeling his disap- 
pointment about the box of tools. 

“ It’s a pity about Jem, is it not, Mary ? I did want 
to give him something that might always please him.” 

“But why need you give up the hope to do so still?” 
asked his sister ; “ is a box of tools the end of all use- 
ful and pleasant things?” 


16 


244 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ No, but for Jem it is not easy to find anything 
really pleasant to give ; now I have given up the tools, 
X cannot think of a'single thing.” 

“Shall I tell you what I think would please Jem more 
than any other present ?” 

“ 0 yes, do tell me ; you always bring back one’s hope 
even when it’s quite gone ; do tell me directly.” 

“ You know how fond Jem is of his dear old mother; 
did you not hear of his saving up a little money to buy 
her a winter gown ?” 

“ No.” 

“He did so, and she was delighted with her son’s 
present, as you can suppose ; and I have often thought 
if the dear old woman could have one of those bright 
red cloaks, it would keep her warm all her life. She 
would look the very picture of comfort in it ; and Jem 
would hardly know how to be happy enough. And you 
could send for Jem on Christmas eve, and let it be his 
Christmas morning present to his mother.” 

“ That will be the very thing !” exclaimed Herbert, 
with delight as fresh as ever. “I will run and tell papa.” 

Mr. Clifford thought that nothing could be better, 
and Mrs. Clifford approved it as the best thing possible. 
So Herbert returned to his sister, and the rainbow hues 
around the gift were bright again, as when his own 
heart first framed the thought ; bright in truth’s own 
radiance now. 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


245 


After Herbert had talked with his sister a while about 
the red cloak, where it was to be bought, and how it 
was all to be managed, he sat silent for a moment on 
the side of the sofa where she was lying, and then said, 
u Did you hear what mamma was saying yesterday 
about my seeing all things in the morning’s misty light, 
and papa seeing them as they really were ?” 

“ Yes, dear, I heard it all.” 

“ Well, then, I cannot make it out, because you 
always bring the brightness back when it’s all gone, 
and if you think differently from me, yet you don’t 
take the brightness away, you only put it on some- 
thing else, and yet papa is sure to say you are quite 
right?” 

Herbert looked inquiringly at his sister; the tear 
started to her eyes, but she did not speak. 

“ Dear Mary, what makes you sad ?” asked Herbert. 

“ Only the thought that perhaps if I answered your 
question, it would make you sad, dear.” 

“O no ; do tell me, if you can ; I want to know.” 

“ Well, then, in the morning, as mamma said, the 
dew lies thick on grass, and leaves, and flowers, and the 
so ft mist half conceals many objects ; but the dew and the 
mist are only of earth, and the sun’s fuller rays absorb 
the dew and the mist, and they are gone; and then 
comes the clear day when everything appears as it is in 
itself ; and then, dear Herbert, what next ?” 


246 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ The evening comes next,” replied Herbert. 

“Yes, the setting sun ; and then the brightness is all 
from heaven ! You see the golden sunbeams fall, and 
they light up all they touch, but they do not make any- 
thing appear what it is not ; you see all things truly, 
only you see them gilded by light from heaven ; a 
softer, stiller brightness than the morning’s dazzling 
light, a brightness that lasts till the sun has set ; and 
that, dear Herbert, is the brightness in which I see all 
things, and because it does not mislead, papa agrees 
with it.” 

“What do you mean, Mary?” 

“ I mean that my sun is setting, and I cannot help 
but see the brightness it casts on all around me.” 

w But what do you mean by your sun setting, 
Mary ?” 

“ I mean that I believe I am dying to earth, but 
rising to God and heaven.” 

“ O Mary, you cannot mean dying / you know you 
were ill last winter, and then you got well again, almost 
well ; did you not ? And so you will this time, indeed 
you will! God would not take away the happiness 
from everything, and it would be all gone if you were 
gone.” 

“ If we put our happiness in anything more than in 
God, he may take it away, dear Herbert, if he loves us, 
to teach us to find it first in himself.” 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 247 

“ I will try to find my happiness still more in God, 
if you stay with us, Mary.” 

“Perhaps God may teach you to do so, by taking me 
away.” 

“ O no, I could not learn anything then.” 

“ We do not know what we can learn, or how we can 
learn best, till God teaches us, dear.” 

/‘I am sure papa and mamma cannot have such a 
thought about you, Mary ; they could never bear it.” 

“ Papa and mamma will try to bear God’s will, 
■whatever it may be; and will not you try also, dear 
Herbert ?” 

“ How do you know that papa and mamma have such 
a thought ?” 

“ Because we often talk about it.” 

“I never hear them.” 

“No; they did not like to tell you, for fear of mak- 
ing you unhappy ; but I wanted you to know, that 
we might talk together of that blessed home to which 1 
am going ” 

“ Do you like to think of going, then ?” 

“ 0 yes, I love heaven more than earth, and my 
God and Saviour more than all besides ! I used to be 
afraid that when I was gone, papa and mamma would 
have no companion to walk with them in the way to 
heaven, and my poor people no earthly comforter ; but 
you took away these fears, dear Herbert, or rather God 


248 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


took them away by you, and now, instead of tears of 
sadness, you make me shed tears of joy sometimes.” 

“ But, dear Mary, if you were to stay, I could help 
you do all this. I am sure the doctor cannot think you 
so ill, because he has told me so many times that you 
were better. If he says that he thinks you will get well, 
will you think so too ?” 

Miss Clifford smiled, and asked : “ If you could see 
the gate of our own home before you, could you easily 
believe any one who told you that a long journey still 
lay between you and it ?” 

“ What do you mean, Mary ?” 

“ I mean that I see the ‘ better world/ and but a 
step between me and it !” 

“ But you may see it, Mary, if you will not go to it 
yet. If the doctor says you will get well, will you be- 
lieve it ?” 

“ He cannot say that, dear.” 

“ But if he says he thinks you will, will you try and 
get well ^ 

“Yes, I will promise you, whatever the doctor may 
say, that I will do anything I can that might help my 
recovery.” 

“ I will go off directly, then, and ask him !” exclaimed 
Herbert. 

“ No ; stop, dear Herbert ; do not go !” but the boy 
was gone. 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


249 


“ Papa, I want to go to the town, if you have no ob- 
jection ; I shall soon be back.” 

“No, I have not any objection,” Mr. Clifford replied ; 
and Herbert was soon on the road. He requested to 
speak with the medical man, who quickly appeared, 
asking, hastily, whether Miss Clifford were worse. 

“ No, I hope she is better,” replied Herbert ; “ but I 
want you to tell me whether you do not think she will 
get well when the spring-time comes ?” 

“ It is not always easy to speak positively on such 
subjects,” replied the doctor. 

“ But you do think my sister may get well again, as 
she did last summer, do you not ?” 

“Yes, I do think that, with the greatest care, Miss 
Clifford may recover again as she did last summer.” 

“ Thank you, sir ; I could not rest without asking 
you.” And Araby bore his young master swiftly home 
again.' 

“ Dear Mary, I was right ! the doctor does think that, 
with the greatest care, you may recover again, as you did 
last summer. Will you not think so too?” 

“ Yes, I will think that, dear !” 

“And then, when you have recovered, there is no 
reason why you should be ill again, more than any one 
else who has been ill and recovers f” 

Miss Clifford only smiled, and Herbert did not read 
the meaning of that smile. 


250 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Herbert had put away all fear of losing his sister from 
his side ; but the momentary distress of the thought had 
made him cling closer to her than ever. He talked 
with her still oftener; and whatever gave rise to her 
words, they continually ended in heaven, till her young 
brother learned to feel the better world a familiar place 
to him, and a home in which, while still on earth, thought 
and affection, as well as hope, found their true resting- 
place. He talked with her; and the sweet links of 
hallowed sympathy that bound her to the poor, drew 
him also to them, in the tie of true feeling and warm 
interest. He read to her from the Holy Scriptures; 
and the clear, undoubting words of one who had learned 
almost her last lesson of God’s unfolded truth, led him 
on in the understanding of that which was the light of 
life to her. 

A few days before Christmas, Herbert was sitting 
talking with old Willy, on the stool opposite the old 
man’s chair, beside the blazing hearth, when suddenly 
his eye fell again on a large hole he had often observed 
in old Willy’s coat. 

“ I wish, Willy, you had a new coat ; you have worn 
this old thing ever since I knew you, and it’s getting 
quite a rag.” 

“ Ay, master ; I can’t count the years I’ve worn it ; 
and for certain it’s none the better for use. I have a 
Sunday coat, that I bought the last harvest I made, and 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


251 


that’s some years agone now ; but if I take my Sunday 
dress for common days, I shall never look decent on the 
Sabbath then.” 

“ What ! have not you had a new coat since you 
could go harvesting, Willy ?” 

“ No, master, that was the last time I earned a bit of 
gold ; and I’m never like to earn so much as silver now. 
No, I have stood king of the reapers many a year, and 
led them on with green bow and sickle ; but that’s all 
over now, and I’m thinking of Him that is coming, as it 
says in my book, 1 to gather his wheat into the garner, 
and to burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.’ O, 
that I may be found a true grain then !” 

Herbert sat silent, pondering on how it might be 
possible to get a new coat for old Willy. The bright 
red cloak would take all his store, and was more 
important than even old Willy’s coat. The old man, 
too, seemed musing upon something; at last he first 
broke silence, saying, “ It’s no time, I say, for me 
to be thinking of finery, when I can never get up 
money enough for such a place as this is about me. 
I’ve tried hard these last quarters to make up a little 
above what I paid him that kept it so bad ; but I 
couldn’t live on less, and so it’s just about the same as 
I saved up before ; but it don’t seem the thing to have 
the old place done up like this, and yet pay no more for 
the comfort of it.” 


252 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“Why, Willy, you are not to pay me any rent! I 
told you so at first. Don’t you remember ?” 

“ 0 yes, master, I remember how you told me I was 
to stay in the old place ; I can never forget the wonder 
of that !” 

“ And not to pay any rent, Willy.” 

“Not pay any rent?” repeated Willy, in a tone of 
inquiring astonishment. “Yes, master, I hope I’ll not 
turn like that against such goodness as yours; I have 
saved it all up as careful as I could.” 

“ Now, Willy,” said Herbert, standing up in despair, 
“ I don’t mean to let you pay me any rent ; so all the 
money you have saved up is yours. Can you under- 
stand that?” 

“ Yes, master, I can understand ; but I can’t see the 
thing to be right for all that.” 

“Never mind, •Willy, it must be right if I say it, 
because it’s my house; and I want you to be happy in 
it, and to live a long while. I will tell you what papa 
says. Papa says that to give is the birthright of 
every child of God ; so it is quite right for me to give 
you back your rent. And now, Willy, you can buy a 
new coat with what money you have saved up. Do 
you understand ?” 

“Yes, master, I understand, and thank you too.” 

Herbert could not help thinking what a picture of 
comfort old Willy would look at his fireside, in his 


CHKISTM AS GIFTS. 


253 


pretty cottage, if he had but a nice coat; so in two 
days’ time he called in again to see if it was bought. 

“ Well, Willy, have you got a new coat?” 

“No, master, I can’t say I have as yet.” 

“But you must make haste, Willy; you know you 
have money enough now.” 

“ Yes, master, that’s true that I have ; but there is a 
thought come in my mind that hinders me a bit.” 

“ What thought, Willy?” 

“Why, my Jem, as I call him, was in here a few 
evenings ago, and he was telling me how he had been 
over to a meeting holden somewhere in these parts, 
where they told about places a long way off, where they 
have not so much as a Bible ; and I have been thinking 
how I sit reading here all about those mansions in heav- 
en, and Him that’s the way to them ; and out there, in 
such places as those he heard speak of, they can’t so 
much as get sight of the book.” 

“Well, Willy, that’s all true; but what of that?” 

“ Ah, master, you see I’m just thinking it’s a deal of 
money to spend on a coat for an old man like me, that 
may never live to want it ; so I was thinking to get 
this patched up a bit, to look tidy like for me ; and 
then, may be, if I could get to them just that money you 
gave back to me, why they might get a Bible out there, 
to show them the true way to heaven.” 

“O, Willy, not all that you have saved for your 


254 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


rent! You might send enough for one Bible, and havo 
a coat too.” 

“ Well, master, it must be as you please, for sure enough 
it’s all yours, and not mine ; only I’m thinking how I 
live like a prince to what that poor beggar did I read of in 
my book ; and yet the angels carried him into heaven : 
but how those poor creatures are ever to get there, that 
never heard the words of the book to show them Him 
that’s the way, it hurts me to think.” 

“ Dear Willy, I do believe you are right ; and I won’t 
mind about your coat. Papa can send the money for 
you, if you like,” said Herbert rather sorrowfully. But 
O ! the joy that lighted up the old man’s eye, as he poured 
out the saved-up contents of his little leathern bag, six- 
pences and shillings, and saw Herbert bear them off; and 
then sat down to his book with thoughts of those who, 
like himself, would hear and read the glad tidings of 
great joy through the book that would now be sent to 
show them the way. 

Mr. Clifford heard the touching tale, and took the old 
man’s offering from the boy ; and Herbert went on to 
say, “Papa, I ought to think of those who have no 
Bibles, as well as old Willy ; and I could do it without 
having to give up my coat for it. What could I give, 
papa ?” 

“ You 'could give me whatever you like, monthly, or 
quarterly, or yearly,” replied his father. 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


255 


“ I should like monthly best, I think, papa ; when I 
receive my money.” So Herbert, led by old Willy, began 
to stretch forth his hand to aid those who, in countries 
far away, “sat in darkness and the shadow of death.” 

Then came the Christmas eve. The cloak, the scarlet 
cloak had arrived, directed for Herbert; and his eyes 
kindled with joy when Mrs. Clifford put it on, wrap- 
ping it round her black satin dress, which showed all 
its warm beauty to perfection. 

“ Widow Jones’s son is waiting to see you, sir,” said 
a servant to Herbert, after tea. 

“Show him into the dining-room,” replied Herbert. 
“Now, mamma, you must come, and, Mary, you must 
come.” 

“I think we had better not,” said Mrs. Clifford. 
“Jem will have quite enough to encounter in the red 
cloak without us ; you can tell us about it afterward.” 

“Perhaps that will be best,” said Herbert; and he 
went out alone. He was gone a long time ; at length 
he returned. 

“ Well, what of the cloak?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ O, mamma, I am glad you did not come ! I could 
not even tell you all. I am sure I love that good fel- 
low ; and I think he loves me. I could not get him to 
believe at first that it was to be for his mother, and a 
present from him ; he said he had never thought to see 
her look like that. And when he found out that he 


256 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


was really to take it away, lie said, ‘I haven’t got 
any words, sir ; but ’tis a comfort we will never see the 
end of.’ I don’t believe, Mary, any one but you could 
have thought of it ; it was the very best thing in the world 
for me to give to Jem, and I am sure he thinks so too.” 

On Christmas-day, Mr. and Mrs. Clifford alw r ays pro- 
vided some present for their children. These presents 
were always placed on the breakfast table ; and a large 
brown paper parcel lay, this Christmas morning, beside 
Herbert’s plate. 

“ 0 papa, what a parcel !” said Herbert, as, impatient 
of all delay, he slipped off the string and unfolded the 
paper. “ 0 Willy ! O papa ! why it’s a coat for old 
Willy. What a beautiful coat ! Why it’s the very 
thing I used to fancy him wearing, a blue coat with 
brass buttons ; how delightful ! Now he will have a 
cpat after all and Herbert turned with his kiss of grate- 
ful love to his parents. “ I should not have cared for 
anything so much as that, papa ; I shall take it myself 
this afternoon.” 

As Herbert entered the church-yard, at his parent’s 
side, who should he see coming dowm the snowy path 
from the other end but the Widow Jones, in her red 
cloak, with little Mercy at her side, and Jem at a short 
distance, in full view of his mother’s bright appearance. 
The old woman saw her young benefactor, and she 
courtesied so low that her red cloak rested on the pure 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


257 


white snow. Herbert bowed, with liis heart-warming 
smile, and the rich and the poor entered the house of 
prayer, there to kneel before the God and Father of all, 
who is rich unto all who call upon him. 

When luncheon was over, Herbert set off to old 
Willy. The old man had had his Christmas dinner of 
roast beef and plum-pudding sent from the hall, and was 
seated beside his fire in peace, with his “ book” to talk 
with him. Herbert was wise, and laying the parcel 
aside, he first made old Willy fully understand that all 
his money was gone for those who had no Bibles, and 
that it would buy for them, not one Bible alone, but 
many Bibles ; and when the old man clearly under- 
stood and had fully taken in the joy of this blessed 
thought, then Herbert told him that his father had 
bought a coat on purpose foi him. The old man rose 
and took it with a bow of grateful reverence to the elder 
squire who had sent, and the younger who had brought 
such clothing for him. And then he wondered at its 
beauty, and thought it little fitting for such as him to 
wear, and promised never to put on his old coat again, 
but to wear his Sunday dress on common days, and his 
new coat on Sundays. And Herbert, quite satisfied, 
returned to his home. 

Meanwhile, at the farm, William, in the chaise, had 
brought Rose from her school. She had received 
there the tidings of the birth of another brother in her 


258 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


home, and her first eager visit was to the cradle of the 
sleeping infant. Rose became at once the infant’s nurse, 
and full occupation and delight were found in this new 
interest. The day for the baptism had been put off till 
her return, that she might be present on the occasion. 
Farmer Smith had decided on the infant’s name, which 
was to be Timothy ; “ For by what I can make out,” 
said Farmer Smith, “it is him of whom we read in the 
Bible as having taken most to the Scriptures from a 
child so the infant boy was baptized by the name of 
Timothy, which, according to the custom of using short 
names at the farm, was contracted to Tim, and little 
Tim soon became an object of interest to all around him. 

Mercy, too, kept a merry Christmas in her cottage 
home. Her grandmother’s red cloak was the delight of 
her eyes. She had also knitted a pair of new stockings 
for her grandmother, and a pair for her Uncle Jem, the 
worsted bought with the money saved by her Uncle 
Jem’s hedging and ditching. And the young orphan 
herself was now fresh clad; she had run about with 
warm feet all the winter, through little Jane’s first 
effort to darn stockings a year before ; and now the last 
penny had been paid in, the club-day had come, and 
Widow Jones, laden with the warm clothing, had once 
more stopped at Mrs. Mansfield’s door. Mrs. Jones was 
had into the parlor, Jane was sent for down from the 
nursery, and Mr. Mansfield was called in from the shop, 


OH li 1ST MAS GIFTS. 


259 


and blue print with the little white spots upon it, warm 
flannel, and white calico, were displayed by the tall old 
woman, in her bright red 'cloak, before the earnest eyes 
of little Jane. 

As Jane looked on in silent, happy wonder, the full 
consciousness, because the full knowledge was in her 
mind, that but for her saved-up pennies, those warm 
garments would not have been bought for the orphan 
Mercy ; it was a feeling to enlarge a child’s young heart, 
and to give added strength to her character, resulting 
from a continued effort with its realized attainment. And 
so the little orphan was clothed warmly and well, as 
when her careful parents watched over her infant years. 
And the passer-by through the village lanes might see 
her, with the rosy hue of health upon her cheek, braving 
the freezing air, which had no power to chill her now ; 
the passer-by might see the happy child, sometimes on 
her cottage door-step, scattering down the crumbs from 
the frugal meal, while the expectant robin, peeping 
from the thatched eaves, heard her sing, 

“ Little bird, with bosom red, 

Welcome to my humble shed ; 

Doubt not, little though there be, 

But I’ll cast a crumb to thee !” 

and then, without fear, flew down, to pick the crumbs at 
her feet. Or she might be seen hastening up the hill, 
just to light up Dame Clarke’s little fire, which the poor 

17 


260 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


old woman was too feeble to manage; or sitting beside 
it with her of an evening-time a while, to read to her 
from the holy book, whose words the old woman could 
not read herself ; or coming back on her grandmother’s 
washing day, from her early visit to the poor old 
woman, with the things she had found up, that she and 
her grandmother could wash with their own. Thus was 
Mercy, to whom little Jane had ministered, a minister- 
ing child herself. 

And now, before we leave that happy Christmas 
time, we will go back and pay one more visit in the 
town, not to poor little Patience ; no, w r e cannot climb 
the dark staircase to her cold empty home ; some one 
else must do that, and some one was coming who 
would, but not till that happy Christmas was past; 
poor Patience must spend that as she had spent all be- 
fore it, in wretchedness and want; no time brought her 
gladness as yet ; but the star was soon coming in the 
dark cloud for poor Patience, and she will have comfort 
enough by and by, though for all who dwell in this 
world, the cloud must still darken the bright stars 
sometimes ; but for such as little Ruth, who are gone to 
dwell in heaven, all darkness and trouble is passed away 
forever ! 

Where, then, are we going, if not to see poor Patience ? 
You are going to look into a shoemaker’s home, and to 
see what was doing there. We must pass Mr. Mans- 


CH II 1ST MAS GIFTS. 


261 


field’s corner shop, go down the short street at the top 
of which it stands, turn to the right, and then again 
down a narrow street to the left, and there, half way 
down the street, you will see, “ Boot and Shoe Maker,” 
written up. 

The worthy shoemaker, who lived in this narrow 
street, was once in a much larger way of business, but 
his poorest days had been his best days, and what he 
had lost of this world’s wealth he had gained a hun- 
dredfold in enduring riches, even the love of God, 
which made heaven hi#home. He lived with his wife 
and children in one back room, with a small shop in 
front ; but he was so sickly in health, and so poor, that 
he could not have kept even that one room, if it had not 
been for his eldest son, who was gone abroad, and who 
was always sending money to his parents at home. The 
second son lived with his parents, and was serving his 
apprenticeship to a bookbinder. Little Ephraim, the 
third son, went to day school ; Manasseh was a baby in 
the cradle. Little Ephraim was troubled because the 
baby slept in the cradle, instead of joining in family 
prayer ; so when it was over one day he went to the 
cradle, and kneeling down by the side, he put the baby’s 
hands together, saying as he held them, “ Lord, teach 
Manasseh to pray !” There was also a little girl, named 
Agnes, who went to a day school, and waited on her 
mother at home. 


2(32 


MIN 1ST EKING CHILDREN. 


It was Christmas eve in the shoemaker’s home; for 
the blessed Christmas comes to all, to rich and poor, to 
young and old, telling year after year of the Saviour’s 
love, to win them to seek him while yet he may be 
found, to call upon him while he is near. It was Christ- 
mas eve in the shoemaker’s home; the father was out, 
and the mother, with little Agnes to help, was making 
haste to get all in readiness for Christmas-day. There 
was no plum-pudding or roast beef preparing for the 
Christmas dinner ; but the missionary-box ! • feel its 
weight, and do not think thai* it is heavy with pence 
only; no, there are sixpences and shillings, not few in 
number, the thank-offerings to God of the shoemaker’s 
family. The children will sit round the table; each 
child will have a little candle to burn, all at once, mak- 
ing a bright light, then the box will be opened, and 
they will count up the money that they have gathered 
for the poor heathen, to help in sending good ministers 
to them, to teach them to know that blessed Saviour, 
whose birth we celebrate on Christraas-day. The 
mother was busy, getting on with her cleaning-up, when 
she heard a loud knock at the door. “ Run, Agnes, and 
see who is there,” said the mother. The door was at 
the end of a long passage ; presently Agnes came back, 
and her bookbinding brother with her, and a. large 
brown paper parcel in his hand. 

“Did you hear that knock, mother?” asked the boy. 


CHRISTMAS GIFTS. 


263 


“Yes, who was it?” 

“ Why, it was a friend of yours, only he did hot wish 
his name mentioned; he brought a little Christmas pres- 
ent for you, with his love.” 

“For me !” said the mother; “ a friend of mine ! Did 
you know him ?” 

“ Yes, mother, and so would you if you had seen him ; 
but I am not going to tell you, as he did not wish it, so 
it’s no use asking me ; and as for Agnes, she saw no 
one but me, so she can’t tell.” 

“ What can it be ?” said the mother, and wiping her 
hands and arms, she came up to the round table in the 
middle of the room, where Agnes and Ephraim stood 
all expectation by their elder brother’s side. The string 
was untied, for the shoemaker’s careful wife would be 
sorry to cut a knot and waste an inch of string, the 
paper was unfolded, and five small parcels tumbled out. 
“ O mother !” said Agnes. “ O dear! O dear !” said little 
Ephraim. The first parcel was a quarter of a pound of 
tea; the next, half a pound of coffee ; the next, a pound 
of sugar ; the next, a pound of currants ; and the last, a 
pound of plums. The mother looked hard at her book- 
binding boy: “Now, Bob, if I don’t believe that it’s you, 
and no one else, has been getting all these things 
for me.” 

“Well, mother, I could not stand your having no Christ- 
mas pudding, and I managed to earn it all at over-hours.” 


264 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


So, to the children’s delight, and the mother’s pleasure, 
a great Christmas pudding was prepared, and the whole 
family had their Christmas feast of the provision made 
by the bookbinding boy. 

And so the Christmas came and went. And some 
young hearts, and some that were no longer young in 
earthly youth, loved still" better than before, the “ Holy 
child Jesus,” who was born for their sakes, an infant in 
the stable of Bethlehem. 


POOR PATIENCE. 


265 


CHAPTER XHI. 

POOR PATIENCE. 

Now the end of the commandment is charity out of a pure 
heart, and a good conscience, and faith unfeigned. — 1 Timothy i, 5. 

Christmas had passed away, New-Year’s day was 
over and gone, and the cold, snowy month of January 
slowly drawing to a close. Rose had returned for her 
last half year to school; and poor little Patience had 
taken her place again in the second class, among her 
companions. The mistress said it was a disgrace for her 
to be still only in the second class, when many younger 
than she had been months in the first; but no one else 
took notice of it, for the poor child was so small and 
thin, so silent and shrinking, that a stranger might have 
supposed her one of the youngest, as well as the lowest, 
which she generally was, in the second class of healthy, 
happy children. 

It was at this time that a traveling carriage arrived at 
the Hall. Mr. and Mrs. Clifford were at the door to re- 
ceive their guests : a rather elderly gentleman stepped 
out of the carriage, and then handed from it a young, 


266 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


slight girl, whom Mrs. Clifford received with a mother’s 
welcome. The hall-door was shut, and the carriage 
drove round to the stables. The young visitor was the 
only child of Mrs. Clifford’s earliest friend ; that friend 
had died some years before in England, and the 
father had gone to reside with this his only child abroad 
more for change of scene than from any necessity of 
health. A mother’s sheltering tenderness had passed 
away from her, just when she began to realize the power 
and blessing of it. But that mother had led her from 
her earliest years to her God and Saviour, whose love i? 
more than a mother’s love, and whose presence can 
never be taken away ; and the motherless child knew 
where to turn in her heart’s desolation; she had been led 
so constantly to her Saviour’s feet, that it was no strange 
place to her ; she had learned to tell the wishes of her 
infant life to him ; to carry to him her childhood’s hopes 
and fears ; and now, when bereft on earth, she turned with 
aching heart to heaven ; and the love of God, that filled 
the blank in life for her, filled also her life with sympa- 
thy for all. 

After her mother’s death she had little intercourse 
with any but her father, and this older companionship, 
with her mother’s loss, had made her grave beyond her 
years. Her face was full of thought; and when she 
smiled, it seemed rather the expression of her tenderness 
for those she loved, or pleasure in others’ mirth, 


POOR PATIENCE. 


267 


than the bright gleam of personal merriment. On the 
eager glee of others, like herself in childhood, she seem- 
ed to look with distant pleasure ; but wherever sorrow 
rested she drew near, as if she felt her call on earth lay 
there. Young as she was, she had drunk deep of the 
cup of grief; death and separation were words, the 
reality of which her hourly life still learned ; but she had 
tasted also the love that can sweeten the bitterest trial, 
and her sense of joy was still deeper than her feeling of 
sadness. She herself was comforted in all things ; how 
could she then but long to comfort others ? There was 
no gloom in her sweet gravity, but a depth of tender- 
ness, an assurance of sympathy that made her very 
presence soothe. 

The young guest at the Hall was anxious to lose no 
time before taking a drive to the neighboring town to see 
her old nurse, from whom she had never been separated 
till she left England with her father, when her mother’s 
faithful maid became her attendant. The first suitable 
day was chosen, and as Patience was creeping back 
over the snow from school, a few minutes after four 
o’clock, Mr. Clifford’s carriage drove up and stopped 
at the door of the house where she lived, No. 9 Ivy-lane, 
whence the nurse’s last letters had been dated. “ Does 
Mrs. Brame. live here?” asked the footman of the child. 

“ Yes,” said Patience, looking up. The man went in, 
and Patience slowly followed. 


268 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ How unhappy that little girl looked !” said Mrs. 

- Clifford’s young guest. 

“ Do you mean that neatly-dressed child now gone 
in ?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ Yes ; she looked as if she had never smiled.” 

“ You don’t say so ! I was thinking how clean and 
comfortable she appeared.” 

Mrs. Brame lived at the top of the large old house ; 
and though aged now, and, for the most part, slow of 
movement, she descended the stairs almost as quickly 
as the footman had run up, and tears, and smiles, and 
words of astonishment and gladness were the old 
woman’s welcome to the child whose infancy had been 
cradled in her arms, whose opening life had been her 
one object of interest, and who, through years of absence, 
nad still retained the entire possession of her muse’s 
heart, which had never glowed with affection toward 
any other object through life. 

For one whole hour the devoted nurse was to be 
allowed the sole possession of the child so precious to 
her ! But as the time drew near its close, the youth 
ful Lady Gertrude asked her nurse about the little girl 
whom she had seen enter the same house. Nurse 
Brame told her sad story, and her young listener, sigh- 
ing, said, “I thought she looked as if her heart were 
empty 1” 

“Ah! it’s worse than that!” replied Nurse Brame. 


POOR PATIENCE. 


269 


il I doubt if she has a heart ! Why, let happen what 
will, I have never seen her shed a tear! and if I have 
given her once, I have twenty times, just because I 
could not bear to see such a miserable-looking child ; 
but I don’t believe she cares a bit more about me than 
if I had never shown her a kindness !” 

“ I wish I could see her again !” said the young Lady 
Gertrude. 

“ It’s not the least use,” replied the old nurse. “ I 
have tried it fifty times; there’s no getting anything 
out of her.” 

“ I must see her again if she is here still,” said the 
Lady Gertrude; “I will go to her room and see her 
there.” 

The old nurse went reluctantly to inquire, in the hope 
of finding that Patience was not within. But she 
returned saying the child was alone, adding, in a tone 
of remonstrance, “ If you won’t be pacified without go- 
ing, why then I must stand outside her door, for if I 
were to let you see that child’s father, I should never 
forgive myself.” 

The Lady Gertrude made no answer, but followed her 
nurse down the first flight of stairs to the room where 
poor Patience dwelt. The old nurse took her post to 
listen and watch at the top of the stairs, and the Lady 
Gertrude entered the room. One glance round the 
apartment was sufficient to show that no mother’s care, 


270 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


no mother’s presence was known there ; and the rush of 
almost sisterly feeling passed through the heart x of the 
motherless child of rank and fortune, as she looked on 
the motherless child of want and sorrow. Patience was 
standing with her usual expression of dull and hopeless 
wretchedness. The young Lady Gertrude went up to 
her, and said, in her low tone of tenderness, “ Dear little 
girl, you are not happy.” 

She asked no question, she called for no reply, but 
she gave expression to her own sense of a fact, a simple 
fact, that none had seemed to notice before. Patience 
took her little white linen apron, and hid her face in it, 
and wept. “ Do not cry, dear,” said Lady Gertrude ; 
“ I want to make you happy. Are you not cold with- 
out a fire?” and she laid her hand on the chilblained 
hands of the child ; “ yes, you are very cold. If you 
have half a crown from my purse, then you could get 
some coal and some wood, and make a fire when I am 
gone, could you not ?” But Patience still only hid her 
face and wept. Warm tears they were, melting the 
child’s young heart so early frozen, and leaving its sur- 
face to receive its first impression of human tenderness, 
which no after-time could efface or impair. 

“ Did you ever hear of Jesus ?” 

“Yes,” said the child. 

“He wants you to love him, and be his child, that 
he may make you happy. Will you love him, and try 



: ^70 






POOR PATIENCE. 


271 


to pray to him ? If you do he will be sure to comfort 
you.” 

“ Yes,” said the still weeping child. 

“ I shall have to go away directly; will you not look 
at me, that you may remember me ? Because I am 
your friend, and I love you, and shall often think 
about you.” 

Patience looked up, but the time was gone* the car- 
riage was already within hearing. Then, despairing to 
comfort the child, and feeling only at that moment the 
sorrow she could not bear away, the child of rank put 
her arm around the child of poverty, pressed a kiss 
of tenderness upon her forehead, and putting the half 
crown into her hand, turned away in answer to her 
nurse’s knock on the half-shut door. “ Do be kind to 
her,” said the Lady Gertrude, as she took leave of her 
nurse, and hastened down the stairs, and in a minute 
more she was driving fast away. 

Mrs. Clifford observed the shade of sadness on the face 
of her young charge, and naturally concluding she felt 
leaving her old nurse, immediately planned in her own 
mind to obtain the consent of her young visitor’s father, 
and then send for the old nurse to stay at the Hall. But 
far other were the thoughts of that gentle girl. Her 
heart was lingering where she felt she had left an un- 
supplied want, an unsoothed sorrow, lingering with the 
motherless child in that bare and desolate room. She 


272 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


was thinking that she had done nothing, worse than 
nothing, had awakened the child’s sorrow, and left her 
uncomforted. “ Why,” she thought, “ was I so determ- 
ined to speak to her ? How much better if I had not 
attempted what I could not do.” Did she not know, 
then, how often the eye returns to look again upon the 
first, the only star that had suddenly appeared to light 
up the gloom of a daikened, lowering sky ? Did she 
not know how, when in all the lonely earth no music 
wakes, if suddenly the nightingale’s rich melody fall 
upon the ear, the very heart is hushed to listen and 
recall the strain ? Yes, she knew that these things were 
so, but she knew not that her visit to the child of want 
and suffering had been like them; and so she passed 
aw r ay in sadness, and thought she had left no blessing. 
How many such misgiving fears will the light of eternity, 
when it falls on life past, dispel forever ! 

Nurse Brame watched the carriage swiftly disappear- 
ing in the dimly-lighted lane, then turned within again, 
and taking up her candle, slowly re-ascended the stair- 
case. The earnest tone in which the words, “Do be 
kind to her!” had been uttered, left them impressed on 
the old woman’s heart, and the child seemed more asso- 
ciated with her young lady than anything beside, and 
she turned into the room to speak to her. 

Poor little Patience, when left alone, had ceased her 
tears fora minute in bewildered surprise; then* raised 


POOH PATIENCE. 


273 


her hand to feel where that kiss had been ; to see if 
her forehead still felt the same. It felt the same, but 
she did not; she had ceased to feel alone in all the world! 
She had met the first gleam of human tenderness, and 
to that her shrinking spirit turned. 

She did not reason, but she felt; and feeling lies 
deeper than reason, and often in a child supplies rea- 
son’s part ; the lifeless chill was gone from her heart, 
its frozen surface thawed and left susceptible of passing 
impressions. Nurse Brame came in, and holding up 
her candle to see the child in the dark chamber, said, in 
a kind voice, “ Here, come along with me out of this 
cold place, and we will have some tea together.” 

Patience followed, and was soon seated on a stool by 
the little fireplace. Nurse Brame stirred up the dull 
coals into a blaze, and telling the child to make haste 
and get warm, she set out the little round table with 
her tea-board and bread and butter, and lifting the ket- 
tle on the fire, sat down in the twilight and watched 
till the water boiled. The substantial slice of bread and 
butter, and the steaming cup of sugared tea, brought a 
little color to the cheek of the child ; and Nurse Brame 
cut the square white loaf with no sparing hand, and put 
more water on uncurled tea-leaves, that the poor child 
might be “satisfied for once;” and all the while the old 
nurse felt as if she was just doing her young lady’s will. 

“ There, now, you are neither cold nor hungry, at last,” 


274 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


said Nurse Brame, “and you had better go down and 
go to bed, and there’s no doubt you will sleep sound 
enough 2” Patience returned to her cold, dark room, 
and crept to the side of the heap of rags that made her 
bed ; but she, too, remembered the lady’s words, and 
her gentle inquiry, ‘ Will you try and pray !’ led the 
child, as by the silken bond of constraining love, to make 
her first faint effort. Then taking from her pocket the 
treasured half-crown, she clasped it tight in her hand, 
and lying down was soon asleep. 

Nurse Brame was sitting over her decaying fire that 
night, her candle was out, and it was her usual early 
hour of rest; but she was sitting as if watching the 
fading embers, and thinking on the past events of the 
day — her unexpected and joyful surprise in her Lady 
Gertrude’s visit, and then the child ; but the child, the 
poor child, came like a shadow across the sunbeam’s 
track. Nurse Brame had never learned the pure and 
simple joy of doing good; she had showed many a little 
kindness to the desolate child, but it was, as she herself 
expressed it, because she could not bear to see so miser- 
able a thing, not because she could not bear that silent 
suffering should be, if unseen ; she thought that such 
things must be, and that it was only her call to relieve 
when forced upon her notice. “Out of sight” was 
“out of mind” with old Nurse Brame; therefore a gift 
from her was nothing more to the receiver, than the 


POOR PATIENCE. 


275 


». ime gift picked up on the highway side ; it came as no 
lining witness, therefore it felt no living glow, the re- 
c fiver’s feeling was as shallow and transient as the feel- 
ing of the giver. 

But now the link between the old nurse and the child 
1 ad changed ; it was no longer the transient sight of 
want, but the feeling of her young lady’s interest. 
Nurse Brame was sitting in the dim firelight, thinking 
upon how much it would be necessary for her to do for 
tl is unhappy, and, to her, uninteresting child ; uninter- 
esting not to her alone, but to all save the one who had 
re iched the child’s buried heart. The old nurse felt she 
m ist be kind to her ; she would not neglect a wish of 
he r young lady’s for the world ; but she wanted to come 
to a conclusion in her own mind as to what amount of 
kindness would be sufficient. She knew not Charity’s 
indwelling influence, which, far from consisting in this 
or that act, is the very atmosphere in which the spirit 
that possesses it lives, and moves, and has its being. 

While so poudering, Nurse Brame heard a hasty 
knock on her door, and looking round a little startled, 
the woman wko rented the house, letting out its rooms 
to lodgers, and living herself on the ground floor, opened 
the door and came in. “I want you to tell me,” said 
the woman, “ what I am to do. I have just heard, that 
pest of a man is off to escape the constables ; I have not 
had a farthing of rent for five weeks, and what is left in 
18 


276 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


tlie room won’t pay me a quarter of that ; but such as 
there is I shall make the most I can of it, and glad 
enough to get rid of him. But what to do with the 
child ? I can see nothing for her but the work- 
house.” 

« 

Now Nurse Brame thought the workhouse next in 
disgrace to the prison itself; and the question instantly 
arose in her mind, What would her young Lady Ger- 
trude say, when she saw her again and asked for the 
child, if she found that the next day she had been car- 
ried off to the work-house ! Nurse Brame did not con- 
sider where the disgrace of the work-house lay ; whether 
with those who could do nothing to support themselves, 
or whether, not rather with those who suffered the 
young and helple**, or the 4 d and feeble, to be carried 
off and nourished by the ft reed contributions of others. 
Nurse Brame considered the work-house, in someway or 
other, to be a disgrace ; and according to the readiest 
and most general custom, she associated that disgrace 
with the result, and not the cause of that result, and ex- 
claimed, “Is there nothing but the work-house ?” 

“ I can think of nothing else,” replied the woman. 

Then suddenly within the mind of old Nurse Brame 
rose the vision of the child, as she had been seated that 
evening on the stool by the fireside ; the stool was still 
there, but the child was gone. Why might not that 
warm, comfortable room become the child’s home? 


POOR PATIENCE. 


277 


Nurse Brame might feed the worse than orphan, and yet 
have enough for herself, and she knew this ; the child 
was clothed in the school, and rent of room, firing, and 
candle, would have cost no more. All this passed be- 
fore the mind of old Nurse Brame; but the motive that 
influenced her thoughts was one of earthly limitation, 
not of heaven’s boundless charity ; therefore it came 
short of such an attainment, and she only replied, 
“Well, I would not be the one to send a child off to the 
work-house !” 

The woman stood a moment considering; then said, 
“ I have a relation in the town who wants a girl, and 
perhaps if I spoke she would take the child ; though I 
doubt if she would think her strong enough for the 
place.” 

Now “a place” to old Nurse Brame had a respectable 
sound. She considered it no business of hers to find 
out what the place was ; it was a “ a place,” a place of 
service ; a way, in her estimation, of earning an honest 
penny ; little considering how often the “honest penny” 
of the poor is paid by dishonest hands, who have wrung 
three times the penny’s worth from the strength that 
has no redress on earth. And so, because the name of 
“ a place ” was better than the name of “ a work-house,” 
Nurse Brame made no inquiry as to what the real thing 
might be, but gave her judgment in favor of the place, 
saying, “Well I am sure I would try for the place, 


278 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


rather than send the poor thing off to the work- 
house.” 

Meanwhile little Patience, whose fate seemed pending 
above, was quietly sleeping below. No rest-breaking 
father returned to disturb her slumber, and she did not 
wake till the slowly dawning light shone into her dreary 
room ; then, hastily rising, she looked for her father ; 
he was not there ; she saw at once that he had not been 
there. So looking again at her half-crown, and once 
more feeling her forehead that the lady’s lips had kissed, 
she rose and dressed. There was no fire, no food ; but 
the thought of spending the half-crown was not even 
entertained. It was the lady’s gift ; the sign that made 
the past still real and present to the child. She put it 
at the bottom of her pocket, and was thinking about 
what time it could be, when the woman of the house 
came in and said : “ I am sorry for you, but your father 
is off, no one knows where, and he has paid no rent for 
these five weeks, so I must just take what he has left, 
and hope for a better lodger; but I don’t want to be 
hard upon you, and if you think you would like to try 
service better than the work-house, why I will go with 
you at once and se9 after a place that I know of.” 

Poor little Patience! the avalanche of frozen words 
fell upon her heart, still warmed with yesterday’s glow 
of feeling, making the chilling shock the greater. 
Again she hid her face and wept. “ Poor thing !” said 


POOR PATIENCE. 


279 


the woiflan, in a softened tone, “I am sure none can 
treat you worse than your own father has done. I 
dare say you have not tasted food ; come along with 
me and I will give you some breakfast; and then we will 
see what can be done.” 

Then taking the unresisting child by the arm, she led 
her down stairs, and gave her some bread and butter 
and cold tea; and then, after a while, repeated her 
question, as to whether she would like best to go to 
service or the work-house ? Poor Patience did not know ; 
both names were alike to her; and beginning again to 
cry instead of answer, she only wished in her heart that 
the lady would but come again. She felt as if there was 
one who would not let her be left alone in her misery. 

The woman, seeing that words were hopeless, tied on 
her bonnet; and fetching the child’s bonnet and cloak, 
put them on her, saying, “ Well, come and see what you 
think of the place ;” and again taking her by the arm, 
she led her through the town to a distant narrow street, 
stopping at the door of a high house. Patience was left 
in the passage while the woman went in and talked with 
the mistress; and then, calling Patience in, the mistress of 
the house asked her whether she thought she could run 
about and do the work for her board and a shilling a 
week? A shilling a week sounded like exhaustless 
wealth to the poor child, who knew nothing of the 
expense of necessary clothes ; and she answered, “ Yes.” 


280 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


So the woman left the child, promising to send all that 
she found belonging to her ; and returned, well satisfied, 
to inform Nurse Brame of the success of the attempt. 

The next morning Nurse Brame received a letter by 
the post. It was from her loved young lady. The old 
woman put on her spectacles, and read, with astonishment 
and delight, that, in the course of that afternoon, Mr. Clif- 
ford’s carriage would take her back to the Hall, to stay 
there during the time of her young lady’s visit. The 
old woman looked twice at the letter, to be quite sure ; 
then, putting on her shawl and bonnet, she hurried out 
to buy such additions to her wardrobe as she thought 
necessary for so great an occasion ; and then, hurrying 
home again, began to make preparations. The sun had 
set when the carriage drove up to the door. The foot- 
man ran up to summon Mrs. Brame, and the old woman 
stepped down, dressed in her neatest and best, and the 
footman carried her bandbox behind her. Her young 
lady was in the carriage alone; and when the old 
woman was in, and the footman waiting for orders, the 
Lady Gertrude asked her nurse whether that poor child 
was at home? “Ah, no, poor thing! she went off yes- 
terday to a place,” replied Mrs. Brame. 

“ That little girl to be a servant ?” asked the young 
Lady Gertrude, in a tone of surprise. 

“Ah, yes; she is older than she has the look of, by a 
good bit.” 


POOR PATIENCE. 


281 


4< Horae,” said the Lady Gertrude; and the carriage 
drove on. Then turning she talked with her old nurse, 
till, as they were about to leave the town, she suddenly, 
as if a thought for the first time crossed her mind, in- 
quired, “ Do you know where that little girl has gone to 
live ?” 

“ Not the least in the world,” replied Nurse Brame ; 
“ but she is gone to a place, and that’s respectable. They 
would have sent her off to the work-house, but I set my 
face against having the poor thing treated like that; 
and now she is once in service she must work her way, 
as I and others have done.” 

“ But if she should not be happy, who will know it?” 
asked the young Lady Gertrude. 

“You need not distress yourself about that,” replied 
Nurse Brame ; “ she has led such a wretched life, 
that let service be what it will, it must be better than 
that.” 

The Lady Gertrude said no more ; she felt that the 
child had no place in the heart of her old nurse, and 
from that time she never mentioned her again ; and her 
nurse believed her satisfied, and the child a forgotten 
thing. In a fortnight more the young visitor and her 
father left the Hall ; and in the spring of the same year 
they quitted England again for a residence abroad. 

When Miss Wilson next visited the school, she missed 
Patience ; and when she inquired of the mistress, she heard 


282 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


that the child had been forsaken by her father, and was 
gone to service. And then the mistress told her what 
she had now found out about the life of misery the poor, 
forsaken child had led in her home. Miss Wilson felt 
very sorry, but it was too late now to hope to do much ; 
yet she could still go and see poor Patience in her place 
of service ; and knowing that Patience had not earned a 
Bible, she directly determined to go and take her one ; 
so she learned from the mistress where Patience was 
living. Then going to a shop she bought a Bible, 
and went on to find poor Patience in her new place of 
service. ^ 

It was a narrow street; and w r hen Miss Wilson 
knocked at the door, a cross-looking woman openfed it. 
Miss Wilson asked for her little scholar. The woman 
did not invite her in, but shouted to Patience to come 
down ; and then went herself, and left Miss Wilson stand- 
ing at the door. Patience came ; just the same look over 
her face as when at school, as if she expected something to 
be said to persuade her to try and do more than she had 
done before. But Miss Wilson knew the truth now, 
and gladly would she have comforted the poor, desolate 
child; but she could only speak to her at the door 
of the house. She gave Patience the Bible she had 
brought for her. Patience took it and courtesied, but 
she did not speak ; and Miss Wilson could never forget 
the look of illness in the poor chikl’s face. She went 


POOR PATIENCE. 


283 


away feeling very sad about the child. She had always 
been kind to Patience, she had never spoken hastily or 
severely to her, but she had loved her less than she had 
loved the other children ; and poor Patience had wanted 
more love than others, not less. 

Miss Wilson waited some weeks, and then she went 
again to see Patience in her place. The same cross- 
looking woman opened the door, and Miss Wilson asked 
if she could speak to Patience. 

“ O, she is not here,” replied the woman ; “ she fell 
ill of brain-fever, and we had her carried off to the 
work-house !” 

Poor Patience ! she had no strength for work ; half 
starvdl as she had been and miserable, her feeble limbs 
could stand no labor ; she had toiled on till all power 
was gone, and now at last she was in the work-house. 
We will not leave her yet, but will go and see her there. 
She was laid on a little bed in the sick ward of the work- 
house, and nursed till the fever left her and she was able 
to sit up. When she was well enough to sit up and walk 
about a little, she was not sent to another place of serv- 
ice. No, she was taken two miles away from the town, 
to a house in the country, where the work-house children 
were kept. It was the beginning of May. The trees 
were all in bud, and the hedges growing green, and 
the lark was singing in the clear blue sky. Patience 
had never been so far in the country before; she wished 


284 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the drive would last very long, for she liked it very 
much, and she did not know what she might find at 
the end. It was not long, however, before they stopped 
at a large house that stood alone. A strong, kind- 
looking woman came out, and took Patience in, saying, 
“Never mind, my dear; you will soon get better 
here.” 

Patience heard the words, and she looked up at the 
strong, kind woman with something like inquiry and 
wonder. But it was all true ; it was the strong, kind 
woman’s heart that spoke in those first words to the 
timid stranger child, and Patience was to live with her. 
And now the cold, nipping winter of the poor child’s 
life was gone, and its bright spring-time began# Yes, 
its bright spring-time began in the work-house, under 
the care of that strong, kind woman. Patience began 
the next day to do a little work, but the woman saw 
directly the tired look come over her face, and made her 
leave off. Breakfast, dinner, and tea all came, with 
strengthening food for Patience ; and now that she was 
no longer faint and hungry, she began to think of all 
that she had heard long before. And first she got her 
little Bible, and read to herself, and she felt happy, read- 
ing all alone, and trying to remember what Miss Wilson 
said at the school. 

After a little while Patience thought that what made 
her happy would make the other children happy ; so in 


POOR PATIENCE. 


285 


their playtime she often persuaded them to come and 
sit round her; and she read out of her Bible, and 
taught them texts and hymns, and read to them from 
her other little boohs, and the children liked to listen. 
So it was that poor Patience, who seemed at school as 
if she could not learn, and would never remember any- 
thing, was the first, perhaps, of all the children there, 
except little Ruth, to become a ministering child to 
others. 

Poor Patience had never known a parent’s tender- 
ness; but she soon learned to love the strong, kind 
woman who took care of all the work-house children. 
The woman moved about quickly, and spoke fast and 
loud, but her heart was kind, and Patience loved her, 
and tried to please her. 

When the months of May and J une had passed away, 
and Patience was well again, there came a day of holi- 
day in the work-house, and the matron told Patience 
that she might go to the town and see her friends. 
Patience had no friends except Miss Wilson and that 
lady far away ; but she thought she should like to go 
and see Miss Wilson. Though Patience looked very 
small, she was older than she looked, and quite old 
enough to go to the town alone. She knew where Miss 
Wilson lived, and easily found the house. Miss Wilson 
was much surprised at seeing Patience, but very glad 
to find how happy she was in the work-house. And 


286 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


now Patience not only answered every question put to 
her, but she told how she employed her time, and how 
the work-house children came round and listened while 
she read to them and told them what she had been 
taught at school. Miss Wilson gave Patience some new 
books for her own, to carry back with her ; and not 
being able to walk so far herself, she asked her father 
to go, and one day he went, and found Patience happy 
herself, and trying to make others happy. And there, 
for the present, we must leave her ; a ministering child 
in the work-house. 


LITTLE JANE AGAIN. 


287 


CHAPTER XIV. 

LITTLE JANE AGAIN. 

The words that I speak unto you, they.are spirit, and they are 
life. — John vi, 63. 

While Patience in the work-house was gathering 
other children round her, and teaching them the bless- 
ed words that had so long lain silently on her own 
heart, little Jane, led by her mother’s thoughtful care, 
had a mission of love to the aged. In the town where 
Mr. Mansfield lived, there stood, in a narrow street, a 
row of old almshouses. The walls were of white plas- 
ter ; the one single shutter to each lower lattice-window, 
and the doors, were black ; and the old chimneys rose 
thick above the red tiled roof. In the spring of the 
year an old man and' Woman passed under the alms- 
house door-way, and up the white deal stairs, to end 
their days in one of the almshouse rooms, which the 
friendly compassion of some people in the town had ob- 
tained for them. They had come from a large farm- 
house, where much had been under their care; but the 
old man had failed, and now all was gone, except one 


288 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


four-post bedstead with its white dimity hangings, their 
two arm-chairs, a chest of drawers, a small round table 
before the .fire, and a square one in the window, and 
such few other articles as were necessary to the fur- 
niture of one room. The old woman spread a white 
cover on the little table in the window, and hung at 
both small lattices muslin blinds, and to a stranger’s eye 
the room looked a picture of neatness and comfort, and 
the old people were thankful for such a refuge; but 
still they felt the change, the old woman most of the 
two, and her stirring, active manner changed to a look 
of silent dejection. They knew not that Hope that can 
shed its brightness no less on poverty than on wealth, 
and is the only abiding light of either. 

Mrs. Mansfield had known something of them in their 
better days, and now she hastened to visit them in their 
affliction ; she saw the silent dejection of both, and the 
thought occurred to her mind, that very probably it was 
as much owing to the loss of all active interest in life as 
it was to any sense of present poverty ; and that to pro- 
vide the old woman a little employment, might prove a 
great help in cheering their spirits. t She knew, also, that 
Mrs. Blake was a good knitter ; so after sitting with them 
in sympathy a short time, she said, “ I have a little plan 
to propose to you, Mrs. Blake : I know you are a superi- 
or knitter, and I want my eldest little girl to learn the 
art; and if you would not object to take a little pupil, I 


LITTLE JANE AGAIN. 


289 


would send her to you three times a week for an hour, 
and then send for her again. I should thankfully pay a 
shilling a week for her instruction, till she can manage it 
well enough to go on by herself.” 

“ I am sure I should be thankful,” replied Mrs. Blake ; 
“ it would seem a little company, and cheer us up every 
way.” So the next day was fixed for a beginning. 

“ Jane,” said Mrs. Mansfield, that afternoon, “ I am 
going to send you to-morrow to take your first lesson in 
knittifig; you are going to a kind old woman who is 
willing to teach you. I am sure you will be very attent- 
ive, and try to give her no trouble.” 

“Is she very old, mamma?” 

“I dare say you would think her very old, so you 
must be careful not to tire her by making her tell you 
the same thing over a great many times. You know 
you have often wished you could knit like me, and now 
you will learn.” 

Jane took the first opportunity of getting off to the 
nursery, being always anxious to tell all that concerned 
herself to her nurse. 

“Nurse, I am going to learn to knit like mamma; 
there is a very old woman who is going to teach me; 
mamma says I shall think her a very old woman. Do 
you think, nurse, I can do anything for her ?” 

“ Yes, to be sure ; I never saw the old woman yet that 
a child could not be a comfort to if she had a mind to try.” 


290 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ What do you think I can do, nurse ?” 

“ How should I know ? that’s for you to find out 
when you are there.” 

Little Jane had no love for suspense, and she thought 
it would be much pleasanter to know at once just what 
she could do for this very old woman ; and though it was 
her nurse who had taught her to reverence old age, still 
her mother was always her final appeal, so she did not 
stay long in the nursery, but made her way back again 
to her mother’s side. 

“ Mamma, nurse says I can do something for the old 
woman : what can I do ?” 

“ I hope you will be her little comforter, Jane, and that 
will be doing the best thing for her, for she is very sor- 
rowful.” 

“ How can I be her comforter, mamma ?” 

“ Only by loving her, and trying to make her happy, 
as you try to make me when I am sad.” 

“I read to you out of the Bible to comfort you, mam- 
ma; will that comfort the old woman ?” 

“Yes, I hope it will. You will find an old man also, 
the old woman’s husband, and when you have knitted 
three quarters of an hour, you can tell the old woman 
that you read to me to make me happy, and that if she 
will let you, you will read to her.” 

“ How shall I know when it is three quarters of an 
hour, mamma ?” 


LITTLE JANE AGAIN. 


291 


“Mr. Blake, the old man, has a watch, and he will 
tell you if you ask him.” 

Now little Jane was perfectly satisfied, and with a 
path before her clear and bright as the shining light, she 
waited for her next day’s lesson. 

Her nurse led her to the almshouse, up the white deal 
staircase, knocked at the black door, where the No. 3 was 
painted in large white letters, and left Jane seated on a 
stool by Mrs. Blake’s side. Jane was a timid child, and 
she felt a little strange, and the color came to her cheek 
when left alone with the old people ; but she remembered 
that she was to try and be a comfort to them, and any 
sense of power soon dispels the slavery of fear. Jane 
tried to do her best, but the knitting-needles were stran- 
gers to her little fingers, and she longed to get to the 
pages of the Bible, to which those same little fingers had 
so long been used. 

“ Is it three quarters of an hour yet, do you think ?” 
asked Jane of Mrs. Blake. 

“No, my dear, not more than one as yet, I should 
say.” 

Jane knitted on in patience, but the time seemed very 
long, while she grasped as tight as possible needles which 
as yet she knew not the skill of holding with easier pres- 
sure. “ Do you think it is nearly three quarters now ?” 
at length she asked again. 

Then the old man’s pity awoke, and taking out his 
19 


292 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


watch, he laid it on the table by the child, and said, 
“ There, dear, now you can see for yourself.” 

“ I don’t know what’s o’clock when I look,” said little 
Jane. 

“Come, wife,” said Mr. Blake, “you have had time 
enough for your teachings; I will give mine now. Come 
here, dear, and I will show you all about it.” So Jane 
stood at the old man’s knee, and he taught her how to 
find out what it was o’clock, and spun out his lesson till 
the three quarters were fairly over. 

“Is it quite three quarters?” asked Jane. 

“Yes, dear; do you want to be going?” 

“No, I don’t want to go, but mamma said, would you 
like me to read in the Bible to you when it was three 
quarters of an hour ?” 

“Yes, to be sure!” said the old man. “Wife, where’s 
our Bible?” 

“ It is here, where it always is,” said Mrs. Blake, going 
to the chest of drawers ; “ but it’s too big for a child.” 

“I can stand at the table,” said little Jane; “I can 
find the place where I read to mamma this morning; I 
can find places in the Bible now all by myself; shall I 
read what I read to mamma about the sheep and the 
goats ?” 

“ Yes, dear, that’s just what I should like,” said the 
old farmer. 

So the child stood up between the two old people, and 



Pa^e 29*2. 


« 




► 


LITTLE JANE AGAIN. 


293 


her young voice bore on its feeble breatb the seed of 
eternal life, herself unconscious of the enduring influence 
of the words that “ are spirit and life,” thinking only of 
its present power to comfort. 

When Jane had done, the old man said, “Ah, thank 
you, dear ; those are cutting words !” but Mrs. Blake only 
praised little Jane’s reading. Jane looked at her, sur- 
prised and disappointed, as having expected a far higher 
result than any thought of her reading, and said, gravely, 
“It makes mamma happy when I read her the Bible.” 

“ Ah, dear, that’s as it should be !” said the old 
man. 

“ Does it make you happy ?” asked little Jane, turn- 
ing to him. 

“ God grant it may ! God grant it may !” he replied, 
and little Jane, satisfied with his words, shut up the 
great Bible. Mrs. Blake saw that she had answered 
wrong, and that the child had expected what was read 
to have some effect on her ; she said no more then, but 
she determined next time to listen, that she might see 
whether she could find anything in the words them- 
selves. Then, rising up, Mrs. Blake went to her closet 
and brought out her wheaten loaf and slice of butter, 
and cuttting some bread and butter for J ane, she offer- 
ed it to her. She had been used to bring out her home- 
made cake to her guests, and now, though bread and 
butter was all her store, she would still offer that. Little 


294 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


jane received the offer of the poor old woman as she 
would have received the same kind care from the rich ; 
and then, her nurse arriving, she returned to her home, 
to give to her mother her simple account of all that had 
passed. And on through the summer weeks little Jane 
knitted her three quarters of an hour, then told the time 
from the old man’s watch, and read her chapter out of 
the great Bible. And thus the child became a minister- 
ing guide to heaven. 

Before we leave the town we will pay a farewell visit 
to the shoemaker’s family. We saw them before, on the 
Christmas eve; and it was still winter-time, when, if you 
could have looked in of an evening, after the day’s work 
was done, when the mother’s candle was lighted, and 
she was sitting by the round table at work, you would 
have seen on the table a pile of loose pages, and Agnes 
and Ephraim seated side by side, sorting and arranging 
them. They were pages of the New Testament, which 
Miss Wilson had found in one of the school closets, a 
heap of old and torn copies of the Holy Testament ; so she 
sent them to the shoemaker’s book-binding son, for him 
to see what he could do with them. The book-binding 
boy set his little brother and sister to work, and every 
evening they sorted the sacred pages, till they had 
some Testaments complete, and some separate Gospels 
and Epistles complete. Then the shoemaker’s book- 
binding son carried them off, and in his spare time, 


LITTLE JANE AGAIN. 


295 


with, the pieces his master allowed him to use, he put 
them all into neat dark covers, and then he gave them 
to Miss Wilson, saying, “ I have not money, but I have 
a little time to give, and I want it to be mv offering to 
those that have need.” He brought eight volumes, Test- 
aments and parts of Testaments, refusing <iny payment, 
leaving the words that are “spirit and life,” again 
ready for the use of the poor and needy'. So it was 
that the shoemaker’s children ministered to others, 
“ according to their ability.” 

While little Patience gathered health and strength in 
the warm summer-time, beneath the work-house ma- 
tron’s care, the life of the young sweet lady at the Hall 
was passing from the earth. Every one around her 
watched her gently fading from their sight. Her 
parents knew that she was dying, and looked upon her, 
day by day, as if each look might be their last upon her 
living form. The servants watched her whenever in 
their sight, and thought of all that devoted service 
could do, as if they felt each act might be the last that 
loving reverence might offer her. The villagers looked 
from their labor when the carriage passed, and if she w r as 
in it, they turned and watched it out of sight; the cot- 
tage women looked from door or window, then sighing, 
turned again to their work within ; the very children of 
the village knew that their lady was departing, and 
looked into her face with silent questioning, which there 


296 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


was none to answer, for tlieir young hearts spoke by 
looks alone. All knew that she had well-nigh reached 
heaven’s gate, all but her own young brother. He 
looked on her, but her smile, unchanged, still threw its 
vail of beauty over weakness and pain ; he looked no 
deeper than ihat smile, and thought that, however her 
strength might change, that smile would be always beside 
him ; and lest he should find that others thought differ- 
ently, he never asked of any what they thought, and so 
he knew it not, but still believed that, with the greatest 
care, she might recover again, as she had done before. 
It was now some weeks since he had been to old Willy’s ; 
for the last time he went, and expressed his hope that 
his sister would soon he well again, old Willy had 
shaken his head. Herbert saw and felt that shake of 
the old man’s head. He said nothing, but he kept 
away from the cottage after that, afraid to venture again. 

It was the close of June ; the air breathed the fragrance 
of the new-mown grass over the hills, the song of the 
birds was hushed at mid-day, and the heavy foliage 
hung its soft shade between the earth and the sky. 
Miss Clifford came down in her shawl and bonnet, and 
Herbert, ever on the watch, soon had her leaning on his 
arm, crossing the unsheltered lawn. “ You will not go 
this way, Mary ; you will want the shade of the trees,” 
he said, without arresting by a pause the frail steps he 
supported. 


LITTLE JANE AGAIN. 


297 


w 'No, I want to go this way to-day,” she replied ; “ and 
as I cannot talk while walking, we will sit down on thi3 
seat, and I will tell you why.” 

Herbert sat down beside his sister, and she said, 
“ There is a poor old woman who lives not far from the 
Lime Avenue Lodge; she is very ill, I fear they think 
her dying, and I want to go to-day and visit her.” 

“ Indeed, Mary, you must not go ; you know mamma 
never lets you go and sit in sick-rooms; and now, 
when you cannot take a little walk without being tired, 
I am sure you must not go.” 

“ Yes, dear Herbert, mamma does not mind to-day ; 
she knows I am going, and you will go with me. I 
fear the poor woman is dying without a hope beyond 
the grave, and there is no one to tell her of ‘ the pre- 
cious blood that cleanseth from all sin.’ ” 

Herbert was silent ; he thought, Could he go and tell 
the dying woman of the precious blood of Jesus, that 
could cleanse her from her sins ? No, he thought he 
could not ; he feared he should not know what to say to 
her. He had never seen sickness and death, and he 
was afraid to venture ; so he let his sister take his arm, 
and he led her gently on ; they were silent till they 
reached the cottage. The dying woman was lying on a 
bed put up for her in the lower room ; she looked toward 
Miss Clifford, but did not speak. Herbert stayed by the 
open casement, and Miss Clifford went to the bedside. 


298 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ I am sorry to see you so ill,” said Miss Clifford. 

“ 0 „dear, yes, and I am as bad in mind as I am in 
body!” the dying woman replied. 

“ What is it that troubles you ?” Miss Clifford asked. 

“ What is it ! why it’s everything, even to the look of 
peace on my husband’s face ; for to my belief the peace 
he has is as much above my reach as the heaven 
itself!” 

“ It is the peace of God your husband has ; the peace 
of one who has found the Saviour. None ever reached 
that peace of themselves; but God, who gave it to 
him, can give it also to you.” 

“ Yes, our minister has been here, and he told me I 
must repent; he said that there was no mercy without 
that; and I told him it was no use, for I could not 
repent. I don’t feel it, and I told him so.” 

“You cannot get repentance, anymore than peace, of 
yourself ; they are both the gift of God ; but it is written 
in the Bible, ‘ Ask, and it shall be given you.’ ” 

“ Yes, I dare say it’s all to be had by those who have 
not set themselves against it all their life-long, as I 
have done ; but there’s none can tell how I have turned 
against it, therefore there’s none can say that it’s for 
me.” 

“ Shall I tell you what God, who knows all things, 
says in his word !” 

“Yes ; I don’t mind hearing now.” 


LITTLE JANE AGAIN. 


299 


“He says, ‘0 Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself, but 
in me is thy help found !’ ” 

The dying woman looked up; those words, “Thou 
hast destroyed thyself,” reached the depth of her sense 
of misery ; they included it all, and made her feel that 
if over those “destroyed” there was a hope, then might 
there be a hope for her. Clasping her hands together, 
and fixing her dying eyes upon the young speaker, she 
exclaimed, “O, how you comfort me!” Then, closing 
her eyes, she listened while again the same words, which 
had proved so instantly “ spirit and life” to her, were 
repeated. After telling her of Jesus, the one mighty to 
save, on whom help for the sinful has been laid, whose 
precious blood can cleanse from all sin, the young lady 
took her leave, and left her to the hope she had set be- 
fore her in the Gospel. That one declaration of Divine 
truth, which, admitting all her sin and misery, turned 
her eye not on herself for repentance, but on Jesus for 
help, had touched her heart; the seed of hope was 
planted, and in the last great day it may be seen to have 
brought forth fruit to life eternal. 

Herbert led his sister gently home. He laid her on 
the couch to rest ; wearied with her effort, she did not 
speak, but laid her hand upon his head, and smiled 
upon him — one long, sweet smile, that met his earnest 
and inquiring look ; then Herbert turned away thought- 
fully to his room. He had a purpose in going there; 


300 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


it was to take his Bible in bis hand, to bold again, him- 
self, in bis own band, the wondrous book whose words, 
from bis sister’s lips, be bad but just seen change the 
face of dull despair to the eager gaze of sudden hope. 
He held his Bible, be looked upon its pages, be saw 
the words so thickly traced, and thought again upon the 
living, the creative power he had but now seen them 
possessed of; and he resolved that the highest object 
of his life should be to make them his own by hiding 
them within his heart, that he might both live himself 
by their help, and use them in aid of others. He held 
the sacred volume as the young soldier grasps his 
sword, for personal and relative defense ; but Herbert’s 
was the “ sword of the Spirit, the word of God,” which 
wounds but to heal ; which destroys not man, but sin, 
man’s enemy ; a sword given to be used, not to defend 
one human being against another, but to defend all 
against the powers of evil, to rescue all from Satan’s 
dreadful dominion. Happy the child who goes forth 
early in this blessed warfare, who, taking the word of 
God, first proves its power in his own heart and life, 
then tries to use it for others’ good ; “ he shall stand in 
the evil day, and having done all, shall stand;” and 
those beside him, whom God will have given him to be 
his glory and joy in the day of Christ’s appearing. 


DEATH AT THE HALL. 


301 




CHAPTER XV. 

DEATH AT THE HALL. 

“ 0, I stand trembling 
Where foot of mortal ne’er hath been ; 

Wrapp’d in the radiance of that sinless land 
Which eye hath never seen. 

“Bright visions come and go, 

Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng ; 

From angel lips I seem to hear the flow 
Of soft and holy song.” 

It was the summer night. The heavens, so softly 
blue, were gleaming with their host of countless stars. 
The village slept in the calm hush of midnight’s hour ; 
it slept, and knew not that its best and dearest treasure 
was passing from its sight forever. Horses’ hoofs trod 
swiftly through the village street, but they roused not 
the laborer, whose healthful sleep is sweet to him after 
the long day’s toil ; then all was silent, till after an 
hour’s space carriage wheels rolled rapidly by. It 
sounded like the doctor’s carriage, and affection’s wake- 
ful ear and heart were roused. Many a villager listened, 


302 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and some looked anxiously out ; but the distant sound 
had died away, and all was silent again. With the 
dawn, the village rose, “Man goeth forth to his work 
and to his labor till the evening.” Far over the bright 
pastures the grass had withered, the flower faded 
beneath the mower’s scythe; and one, the sweetest 
flower that ever grew within the village bound, one 
that every village hand would have been raised to 
shield and to retain, had fallen too, beneath the 
scythe of death. The young, sweet lady of the Hall 
lay dead ; that night her spirit had departed, and the 
place that had known her knew her no more. The 
villagers soon learned the tidings; and one told an- 
other, till every cottage knew and mourned its loss. 
Yet they said not, “ She is dead ;” but only, “ She is 
gone.” They thought not of death, but of heaven as 
her portion ; so they said one to another, “ She is gone.” 
And the laborer raised his arm, from turning the new- 
made hay, and wiped away the tear that dimmed 
his eye ; and the widow wept alone within her cottage 
door ; and the village mother, silent and sad, prepared 
the morning meal ; and the children cried beside their 
untasted food : the village mourned, for the friend, the 
loved of all, was gone. 

The windows of the Hall were curtained ; the stately 
home of her birth closed in ; guarding the still repose of 
that lovely form in death which it had sheltered through 


DEATH AT THE HALL. 


308 


life. The grief of the home was calmed by the near ap- 
proach to heaven’s gate with the bright spirit who had, 
manifestly to all, entered in ; and for a time the glory 
that received her struggled with the sadness her depart- 
ure had left behind, even as the sun’s parting rays cast 
their light back on the gray shades of advancing twi- 
light. 

Poor Herbert alone had been surprised as by a sud- 
den shock ; he knew not that she was going till, lo, she 
was gone ! Grief held him in its heavy fetters ; he could 
think of and feel nothing but the first overpowering sense 
of death and desolation : he knew too little yet of what 
it is to rise in heart, and live in heaven, to be able to 
feel communion of spirit still with her whom he had lost 
from earth. 

The day of the funeral came, and the whole village 
gathered to the grave. There came the old and feeble, 
whom her hands had clothed and fed, her lips had taught 
and comforted ; there came the dark transgressor, whose 
chains of sin had melted under her fervent utterance of 
heavenly truth and love; there came the strong-built 
laborer, whose dull mind had gathered light under her 
gentle teaching, whose hand of iron strength had followed 
her frail finger, tracing out the sacred lesson of holy 
writ ' there came the village children, the lambs of the 
chief Shepherd’s fold, whom she had fed with the living 
word of the Lord of life — all cam. 1 to see the form they 


304 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


had loved laid to its rest, till the resurrection of the just. 
Respect brought some, but it was love unfeigned that led 
the many there : they filled the church-yard, lined the 
wooded lane that led down the hill-side, reached to the 
park-gate, and stood beneath the trees that grew beside 
it. Old Willy had climbed the hill, and, leaning on his 
staff, stood beneath the church-yard yew. 

Then the long procession came in sight : the servants 
of her home would suffer no hired hand to bear her 
honored form, and lay it to its rest. Slowly they came, 
the snow-white border of the sable pall gleaming between 
the old trees of the park ; telling of purity and light that 
encompasseth the blessed, hidden from earthly sight by 
the dark shade of death. Herbert was led by his father, 
and the long train of mourners followed. There stood 
the mourning village, and the mourners from many a 
village round. 

The great men of the earth have a name through its 
generations; and then, if their greatness has been of 
earth only, their very name must pass away, and be lost 
forever : but the childlike spirit, who lives to minister to 
others’ good, to ease the burden of the weary-hearted, to 
sweeten and bless life’s bitter cup, to win the lost to the 
Saviour’s feet, has a record written on human hearts, 
hearts whose records are eternal. 

A suppressed sob heaved the breasts of the villagers 
as she, who had ever come among them in life to bless, 


DEATH AT THE HALL. 


305 


was borne into the midst of them, sleeping in death. 
The village children had filled their pinafores with the 
summer flowers ; they had been wont to gather them to 
win her smile, and now they cast them down before the 
feet of those who bore her to her rest: she who most 
endeared the flowers to them had passed away from 
earth forever. 

The clergyman of the village, an old man, had served 
that village church for thirty years; but not a single 
voice had blessed him, for he knew not the power of 
that love by which the minister of Christ unlocks the 
sinner’s heart. He had now stepped from his garden to 
the vestry on the other side of the church, and it was 
not till called to meet the departed that he saw the as- 
sembled village. As the sight from the church-porch 
first broke upon him, he stood for a moment overcome. 
Such a company of mourning people — children whose 
sobs answered to the silent tears of strong-built men and 
helpless age — was grief too real not to raise the instant 
question within him, “ What woke this burst of love ?” 
and he stood silent and awe-struck at the church’s 
porch. 

Meanwhile the bearers waited. They had reached 
the church-yard gate, and would not enter without the 
words of holiest greeting for the earthly form they bore ; 
then, in that moment’s solemn pause, old Willy, 
standing beneath the yew, raised his voice, and 


306 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

calmly and distinctly exclaimed, “ Welcome the holy 
dead!” 

At the sound of those firm tones of age, the minister 
recovered speech. He came forward with the words of 
life, and the bearers followed him into the church. The 
service went calmly on : but when the white coffin was 
borne within the tomb, overcome by the hopelessness 
with which they hid his sister from his sight forever 
upon earth, Herbert fainted, and fell. 

The servants came forward, but meanwhile Jem had 
darted through them, and, kneeling on one knee at 
Herbert's side, looked up at the father’s face for permis- 
sion to raise the boy. The servants would have put him 
aside; but the father moved his hand for them to retire, 
and lifting Herbert from the ground, placed him in the 
arms of the faithful Jem, sending a servant hastily for- 
ward, to prevent needless alarm to Mrs. Clifford. The 
throng separated for Jem to pass, bearing his precious 
burden, the child of fortune, the only hope of his father’s 
house, trusted to one of themselves, borne by the village 
lad to his home. 

Jem made his way down the hill-side, then stop- 
ped a moment to raise the boy’s arm, which had fallen 
from its posture of rest; and as he laid the small, soft 
hand on the breast of the boy, he thought of the day 
when he had taught it first to use the tools so large and 
heavy for its strength, in labor for the poor and needy ; 


DEATH AT THE HALL. 


30T 


and the tear of past and present feeling gathered in the 
eyes of the faithful Jem. Jem was met on his way to 
the Hall, and accompanied by some of the maid-servants 
to the house. Mrs. Clifford waited anxiously at the 
door. 

“ It’s only a fainting, ma’am,” said Jem. “ It was all 
over too much for my young master ; but he will come 
to quick enough now.” 

Mrs. Clifford bent a moment over the fainting boy, 
almost as pale as herself — her vision almost as dim. 

“ Bring him in here, and lay him down,” she said ; 
and she opened the nearest door, while the maids gath- 
ered to the hall, bearing various remedies and helps. 
Mrs. Clifford preceded Jem into the dining-room, the 
very room where Jem had stood before, alone with the 
young squire, to receive his mother’s scarlet cloak. 

“ Come in and lay him here,” said Mrs. Clifford, and 
she placed the damask cushion for the boy’s uncon- 
scious head. Jem had felt no hesitation in raising the 
heir of that stately dwelling in his arms, to bear him to 
his home; but now that by daylight he saw the rich 
carpet that lay before his feet, he held back with his 
precious burden, hesitating in his rough shoes to tread 
upon a thing so costly. 

“ Bring him in,” repeated the housekeeper ; and 
friends within the house were gathering, and maid- 
servants were waiting round, and so Jem bore the child 
20 


308 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


of the mansion across the soft-carpeted floor, laid him 
gently down with his pale cheek on the crimson cushion, 
and then, as he stepped back, while Herbert’s mother 
knelt beside the couch, and friends drew near and serv- 
ants waited, Jem bowing asked, “ Will you please that 
I should fetch the doctor?” But the housekeeper 
shook her head and whispered, “fro;” then Jem, with 
another bow of lowliest reverence, and a look of anxious 
love toward the fainting boy, withdrew. He saw the 
long train of mourners descending the hill, and made 
his way straight to the farm, there to solace himself 
among his sheep. 

The evening shadows fell and closed that summer day ; 
the folded flower, the folded flocks, the birds with folded 
wing, all sought repose ; while softly calm the moon rose 
over all in the blue heavens. Old Willy had vainly tried to 
comfort his troubled heart ; his eyes were dim, he could 
not see the words of the book. He sat a while within 
doors, then stepped into his garden, then back again 
within the cottage, in wearied restlessness, wanting some 
human voice to fall on his aching heart with tones of 
comfort. But all, that summer day, were mourners, and 
no earthly comforter drew near. When the hush of 
evening shed its soothing silence round, and sleep seemed 
far away from old Willy’s tear-dimmed eyes, he took 
his staff and set forth to climb, once more that day, the 
steep hill-side, and look upon the tomb where they had 


DEATH AT THE HALL. 


309 


laid bis blessed guide to heaven. All were gone from 
the hill-side, and the Hall, with its far-stretching slopes, 
lay silently and beautifully in the summer-evening twi- 
light. Old Willy looked round once from the hill-top 
on his lady’s home on earth, then turned to the church- 
yard gate, and leaning upon it, rested there a little 
while before he ventured further, for the place where 
they had laid her seemed to the old man holy ground ; 
too sacred almost for his feet to enter. So he leaned 
upon the gate, looking on into the distant azure of the 
sky ; looking almost without sight or thought, his 
senses lost in one deep feeling ; they had laid his sweet 
young lady in the grave, they had left her there alone ; 
the night was darkening over her, and he alone -kept 
watch above the form so loved of all. How long he 
stood he did not know, but suddenly he saw in those 
blue heavens before his 'eyes a shining star; full on his 
sight its radiance beamed, the only star in heaven, risen 
there in view, and looking down to comfort him, it 
seemed. “ Ah, sure, I see it,” the old man said in a 
low tone, “ sure I see it’s no use looking down in the 
dark grave for her that’s up above the stars in glory 
there. I see it,” again he murmured low, as, with a 
lingering gaze on that bright star, he turned to depart ; 
but then again he looked toward the tomb, and thought 
he would stand beside it once before the night came on ; 
and so he climbed the stile beside the now locked gate, 


810 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and reached the silent grave; then, stopping short, 
gazed in surprise, for at its foot a child lay sleeping, her 
head reclined against the lady’s tomb, her lap full of 
fresh-gathered flowers. “ Poor dear,” said the old man, 
“she has fallen off asleep; why, ’tis little Mercy Jones. 
Mercy, child, I say, wake up there.” 

And the child sprang up from sleep like a startled 
fawn, and her flowers dropped from her pinafore ; but 
when she saw it was old Willy, she stood still, looking 
down on the fallen flowers. 

“ Why, Mercy, child, you must not stay sleeping here ; 
it’s no place for you.” 

“Yes, but it is,” said the child, without looking up; 
“ it’s the best place in all the world, to be near to my 
lady. I have not been so near to her since that last day 
she came aud stood among us all in school, only I can’t 
see her now; O, if I could but see her!” And the 
child sat down again at the tomb’s foot, beside her fallen 
flowers, and hid her face and wept. 

The tears again dimmed old Willy’s eyes, but still he 
saw that beauteous star shining so brightly down from 
the blue heaven, looking full upon both him and the 
young child, as they watched there beside the tomb 
within the church-yard dreary, and he answered quickly : 
“ Why, child, your blessed lady is not here ; look there, 
she’s shining bright in heaven !” 

The child looked up with sudden start, as if expecting 


DEATH AT THE HALL. 


811 


that angel face to beam upon her from above, or to get 
some distant glimpse of her lady’s white-robed form in 
glory. She looked where the old man pointed, and her 
eye too rested on the star ; on those calm, blue heavens 
above her, and that beaming star so full of softened 
glory, she looked, then said, “ I only see a star.” 

“Well, child, what more would you see? Is not that 
star enough ? isn’t it just come shining down from heav- 
en upon you to tell you that the blessed lady is up above 
it, far away in glory ? For what did God send it in the 
sky there, if not to put you in mind that there’s a world * 
of glory up above, all shining bright like that same 
star, and that he took the blessed lady straight up to it 
to dwell with him forever ?” 

“ Yes, I know it,” said little Mercy, “ and I wish I 
was with her there.” 

“Then, child, you must be walking the path she 
went.” 

“ What path was that ?” asked Mercy, looking up to 
the old man’s face. 

“ Why, the blessed path of love, child ; love to God 
and man. Her mind was always on her Saviour, and 
trying to bring others to the love of him. O, child, it’s 
written in the book that ‘God is love,’ and there’s 
none but a path of love that can lead up to him.” 

Little Mercy was silent; she had tried to tread the 
path of love, in which her lady had taught her to 


312 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


walk ; she had tried to please God her heavenly Father, 
and Jesus her Saviour, and to be a ministering child to 
others ; and now she knew not what more to do ; all 
looked dull and dreary around her, and she was 
silent. 

“ Come now, child,” then old Willy said, “ it’s best to 
begin at once. You know right well your poor grand- 
mother is fretting at home for that blessed lady that’s 
gone; now, do you go back, and be cheerful, and com- 
fort her up.” 

“ Yes,” said little Mercy ; “ I came here because I 
could not bear it. Granny cried, and said, ‘ The sum- 
mer-time seemed gone from the earth !’ and though I 
had set the supper all ready, Uncle Jem turned away, 
and never eat a bit ; so I went and gathered those flow- 
ers, and came here.” 

“Well, child, you know you have seen that star; 
there it "is ; look at it ; see how it shines right down upon 
us here, a bit of glory as it is! Now, you go and be 
like that ; you go and try. He who sent that star to 
light us ijp with comfort here, sent you to your good 
grandmother to be a bit of light to her in this lone- 
some world; you mind that, and go and try, till the 
day comes when you will go, as the blessed lady’s gone, 
to heaven.” 

So little Mercy rose, and took her bonnet from the 
ground, and the old man laid his hand upon her head, 


DEATH AT THE HALL. 


313 


and blessed her ; and she left her fallen flowers at the 
foot of the tomb, and back she went with many a look 
upon the star in the blue sky ; from whatever point she 
turned to look, the star still beamed upon her, seemed 
to watch her still ; so she went back with light in her 
eyes and fresh life in her young heart, gathered from 
the old man’s words and the bright star in heaven. 
Old Willy, too, went home, and from his cottage door 
beheld the same bright star, then laid him down to rest, 
to sleep and dream of glory. 


314 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

TREADING IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE DEAD. 

The memory of the just is blessed. — Proverbs x, 7. 

Being dead, yet speaketh. — Hebrews xi, 4. 

The old clergyman could not forget the scene he had 
witnessed, but the love and the sorrow were both in- 
comprehensible to him. He felt their reality, but could 
not understand their cause. At length it occurred to 
him how often, in driving out, he had seen Miss Clif- 
ford’s ponies at the cottage doors. He instantly con- 
cluded that it must be the notice she had taken of the 
poor that had endeared her to them ; and thinking it 
would be pleasant to win the same feeling for himself, 
pleasant to have the love of all his people in life, and 
their tears above his grave, he determined to visit, him- 
self, from house to house with this object. He thought, 
also, that it wrnuld be pleasant to be kind to those who 
showed so much feeling, such warm return of gratitude ; 
so he set forth. 

He went through the village street, calling at every 
house, leaving his gifts of money, and saying a few 


FOOTSTEPS OF THE HEAD. 


315 


•words to all, but* lie returned dissatisfied. He had met 
no smile of welcome, seen no tear-dimmed eye grow 
bright, heard no blessing. What made the difference } 
Why had he no power, and she, the departed, so young 
in years, why had she so much? He could not tell: 
he did not know that a difference, as real as that of 
earth and heaven, lay between his visits and the visits 
of her the village mourned. He had gone in his own 
name, his words were of earth, his gifts the dole of the 
richer to the poorer; his object was to please, and to 
win affection and gratitude to himself. But she they 
mourned, had gone to none but in the name of Jesus ; 
her words breathed to all the love and truth of Heaven ; 
her gifts were ever the expression of her thoughtful sym- 
pathy ; warm with compassion’s tenderness, and bright 
with the glad power of ministering aid. Such was her 
way of giving, that her gift ever elevated, instead of 
seeming to degrade or lower the receiver ; her highest 
object was not to win feeling toward herself, but to win 
the whole heart and life of those she visited to her 
Saviour and their Saviour, that they might be happy in 
him, and he glorified in them ; therefore an overflowing 
recompense was poured out for her; for “with what 
measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.” 

The aged clergyman knew not that the difference be- 
tween his earthly kindness and her heavenly love, was wide 
as the east is from the west. He was disappointed, and 


316 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


resolved to give up the vain attempt, Vmd go on as be- 
fore. But then a recollection of that old man who had 
stood within the church-yard gate, and uttered those 
words of blessing on the departed, crossed^ his mind, 
and he resolved to go and call on him, and see what he 
would say. 

Old Willy saw his minister coming up his cottage 
garden, and stood at his door with his hat in his hand 
to receive him. Old Willy had learned to behave him- 
self lowly and reverently to those whom God had placed 
above him in station, and courteously to all. There is 
no such teacher of true courtesy as pure religion, if we 
would only learn of her. 

“ Sit down, my good friend ; sit down,” said the cler- 
gyman. “ What a nice house you have here ! I think 
I remember this quite a tumble-down building.” 

“Very like you may, sir; for that was the fashion of 
it many a long day.” 

“ I think I saw you at Miss Clifford’s funeral the other 
day ?” observed the clergyman. 

Old Willy sobbed out, “ Yes, sir !” overcome at the 
sudden mention of the subject. 

“Never mind, my good friend; I am sorry to dis- 
tress you. I suppose Miss Clifford was very good to the 
poor ?” 

“ Ah, yes, sir ! if I might have given my old life for 
hers, there’s hundreds would have blessed me.” 


FOOTSTEPS OF THE DEAD. 317 


* Miss Clifford came to see you, I suppose.” 

“ Yes, sir, sure enough she did ; but it was Him she 
brought with her that made her wholly a blessing.” 

“ Who was that ?” asked the minister. 

“ Why our Saviour, sir ! she never went anywhere to 
my belief without him, and you never saw her but you 
seemed to get a fresh sight of him.” 

The clergyman was silent; at length he said, “Well, 
my good friend, you come very regularly to church. I 
wish I could see a few more of your neighbors there.” 

“Yes, sir; but then, you see, we want teaching; and 
there’s some of them that can walk after that.” 

“ To be sure they want teaching ; and have not I 
preached two sermons every Sunday for thirty years ? 
Why don’t they come to hear them ?” 

“ That’s true enough, sir ; there’s none can say to the 
contrary of that ; no doubt there’s teaching enough in 
your sermons to do anybody good; only poor, dark 
creatures as we are can’t get hold of it, because the 
Light isn’t set up in the midst of it.” 

“ What light do you mean ?” 

“Why, sir, I mean him that is the Light of the 
world, without whom ’tis groping in the dark. I mean 
our Saviour, sir. Why, when one gets a sight of him, 
then one can see and get a hold of all the good that lies 
round ; but when there’s no getting a sight of him, why 
it seems all the same as leading a poor creature out when 


818 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the sun is not in the sky ; there’s no getting a right un- 
derstanding of anything.” 

The aged minister was silent again ; old Willy 
waited, but, when the silence lasted, he laid his hand 
upon the Bible at his side, saying, “I never look in 
here for teaching, but I see him before me. He is just 
the very light of my old heart, that was as dark as death 
before. I first got a sight of him out of this book, and 
now I never so much as look into it but I see him ; and 
I find it holds but dark where there’s no setting up of 
him.” 

“ Well, my good friend, I will think of your words,” 
said the old clergyman ; and with that withdrew. 

The summer sun had three times risen and set since 
Herbert sank beside his sister’s grave. He was lying on 
his mother’s couch, his cheek almost as pale as then*. 
His Bible lay beside him ; but he had ceased to read, 
and w r as lying with a look of sad and earnest thought. 
His mother watched him anxiously, but feared to ques- 
tion him, lest she should but wake her own deep grief 
and his into expression. 

“ Mamma,” at last he said, “ you see it is harder for 
me than for any one.” 

“What is harder?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ To lose Mary, mamma.” 

“ Why is it harder for you, dear Herbert ?” 

“ Because you and papa are so good ; but I was 


FOOTSTEPS OF THE DEAD. 819 


always getting wrong, and never should have got right 
again, if it had not been for Mary’s smile.” 

Mrs. Clifford was silent; she could not question 
more on such a subject. Herbert soon went on to say : 

“You see, mamma, when I got into trouble, you and 
papa, of course, were displeased, and you looked so 
grave ; and then I lost all hope in a moment, and it was 
so dreadful to feel as if one could never be right again. 
And I never felt as if I could, or seemed to know how ; 
but when I went to Mary, she always smiled at me still, 
and said she knew I was sorry, and wanted to do right 
again ; and so I am sure I did, though I did not always 
know it till she told me ; and then she used to say it 
would soon be all bright again ; and when I looked at 
her, and heard her say so, I believed it ; and then I 
tried, and she used to tell me what to do, and help me ; 
and then I was sure to get right again, only you and 
papa did not know how. But now I don’t see any hope 
for me ; I don’t know what will become of me.” 

“Do you know who gave you your sweet sister to 
help you on your way ?” 

“Yes, mamma; of course, it was God.” 

“ And has God, your heavenly Father, given you no 
better gift ; one that still remains, one that death can 
never take away ?” 

“Yes, mamma; I know that God has given us Jesus 
Christ, and that he helps me when I pray to him. I 


820 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


know that, mamma ; but then I cannot see him, or hear 
him speak to me, as I could Mary.” 

“You have not seen him yet, perhaps, dear Herbert, 
but you may see him. He can and he does show him- 
self as clearly to the eye of the spirits of his children 
sometimes, as earthly objects are seen by the eye of the 
body ; and he speaks as distinctly to their hearts as 
earthly voices to the ear.” 

“But would Jesus smile on me, mamma, when I 
get wrong, and am in trouble for it, as Mary used 
to do ?” 

“ O yes, he would ! whatever may have been your 
fault, if you only turn to him, you will find his tenderness 
the same. If yt»u only look up to him, the moment you 
see his face, you will see the smile of forgiveness and love 
upon it. His love, my child, is more than a mother’s ; 
and what his tenderness leads you to hope, his power 
can enable you to accomplish. He can work in you 
both to will and to do according to his own good 
pleasure.” 

Herbert lay silent, thinking on his mother’s words ; 
and she had gathered strength from speaking of him who 
is the Life, to speak of her whom death had taken ; and 
went on to say to her listening child, “ It was so with 
Mary. She lived always in the presence of God her 
Saviour; always able to look up to him, and see his 
face at any moment. She lived in the sense of his love ; 


FOOTSTEPS OF THE DEAD. 


321 


it was her greatest joy to try in all she did to please 
him by doing his holy will ; this made her life so happy, 
and so blessed.” 

Then Herbert said, “ I will try, mamma, and do as 
Mary did. Shall I read you a chapter from the Bible 
now ?” 

“ Yes, dear Herbert ; that will help us both to do that 
of which we have been speaking, even to walk in the light 
of God’s countenance.” So Herbert read to his mother ; 
and the words of heavenly truth and love lightened the 
sadness of their hearts, as the rising sun illumines the 
mist that hides the heavens from our earthly view. 

Days passed away, and Herbert returned to his 
studies. But the paleness did not pass from his cheek, 
nor the sadness from his brow. He had not mounted 
Araby, nor taken a single walk by himself, since the day 
that saw him bereft of his sister. He was sitting one 
morning in the window of his father’s study, with a 
lesson-book before him ; but his eyes were far away on 
the park’s green slopes, where the deer were feeding. 
His father came in, and, going up to him, laid his 
hand upon the boy’s dark, clustering curls ; but silently, 
as if he feared to wake into expression the saddened 
thought so plainly written on his face. Herbert looked 
up ; then, after a minute’s silence, said, “ Papa, shall I 
tell you what I was thinking ?” 

“ Yes, my boy ; what was it ?” 


322 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“I was thinking that I wished Snowflake might be 
unshod, and turned into the park, to live always there, 
and no one ever to ride her again. She would look so 
beautiful under the green trees. I am sure she has 
done good enough to rest all her life now; and I 
could not bear to see her led up for any one else to 
mount.” 

“No ; perhaps none of us could bear that. But how 
would it be, if I had a new pony carriage for your 
mamma, and you drove Snowflake and the groom’s 
pony in it? and then we could keep David on, and 
have a seat behind the carriage for him, to save your 
mother’s fears.” 

“0 yes, papa; I should like that. I had not been 
into the stables till to-day, and David took the cloth 
off Snowflake ; she looked as beautiful as possible, and 
turned her bright eye round on me, only she looked so 
sad. I am sure she knows, papa; any one who saw 
her would think so too. David said that at first he 
felt as if he could not bear the place ; but now he feels 
as if he could do anything to stay. May I tell him 
what you mean to do, papa ? I know he will be so 
glad.” 

“ Yes, if your mother does not object. Jenks can try 
Snowflake alone in the pony chaise. I know he broke 
her in first to that.” 

“ Yes, papa, and then I can drive mamma out first 


FOOTSTEPS OF THE DEAD. 323 

with Snowflake alone, till the new carriage comes.” 
And Herbert rose up with more of purpose and energy 
than he had felt since the day that the s‘n*oke of 
bereavement had first fallen on him. Mrs. Clifford 
made no objection, any personal fear being overcome by 
the sense of the new interest for her child. David met 
the proposal still to stay as groom very gratefully ; and 
Jenks said, “You could not put the creature to the 
thing she would not do if she had the power !” So it 
was finally settled, that after one or two day’s trial by 
Jenks, Herbert should drive his mother with Snowflake 
in the pony chaise, till the new carriage could be 
bought. 

The day arrived when Herbert was, for the first time, 
to drive his mother out. Old Jenks led up the pony 
chaise, with Snowflake harnessed to it. She did not 
stand with arching neck and pawing step, but sorrow- 
fully, with head hung down, as if she knew the hand 
and voice she loved would not be now awaiting her. 
Herbert felt all the responsibility of his new privilege; 
and some unexpressed anxiety that all should be pros- 
perous in this his first attempt to drive his mother, helped 
to check his feeling at the sight of Snowflake. Mrs. Clif- 
ford, also, was not free from nervous apprehension, 
never really considering herself safe except when old 
Jenks was her charioteer; she had only yielded to the 
proposal for the sake of the interest to Herbert, and now 
21 


324 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


her feeling, also, at the sight of the snow-white creature 
was lessened by a sense of personal apprehension. 

She took her seat, and Herbert his by her side, and 
Snowflake gently trotted from the door. There were 
only three roads by which to leave the Hall for a drive; 
one was the direct way to the town, and led past old 
Willy’s cottage. Herbert had not yet summoned cour- 
age to see old Willy, though the old man had been 
many times up to the Hall to inquire for him since the 
day he had seen “ the blessed child,” as he called him, 
fall beside the grave ; therefore Herbert would not go 
that way because of passing his cottage. Another road 
led up the steep hill-side to the church, past the church- 
yard gate, and then round by Farmer Smith’s, a longer 
way to the town ; that could not be ventured on ; so 
Herbert drove out by the gamekeeper’s lodge, and took 
a long, winding, shady lane, that wound round back of 
the park. Snowflake trotted swiftly and smoothly 
along; but gentle as the creature was known to be, 
Mrs. Clifford was still on the watch for fear of some 
mischance. On they went beneath the sheltering trees, 
when, drawing near a lonely cottage, Snowflake sudden- 
ly quickened her pace and drew up at the door. 

“ What is the matter?” exclaimed Mrs. Clifford 
While she spoke, Herbert touched Snowflake with the 
whip. But all the advance that was gained was a few 
steps to a little window of one pane, rather high up in 


FOOTSTEPS OF THE DEAD. 


325 


the wall, a window that opened with a push from with 
in or without, directly underneath which Snowflake 
took a determined stand. Herbert gave her a harder 
stroke. She shook her silver mane at the unwonted 
indignity, but did not move a step. Herbert’s color 
mounted to his cheek, and Mrs. Clifford exclaimed, 
“Take care, Herbert; something will certainly happen !” 
But at that instant the door opened, and out came a neatly- 
dressed woman, courtesying, as if to expected guests. 

“ Do go to the creature’s head while we get out !” 
said Mrs. Clifford. The woman obeyed, and Herbert 
sprang down and handed out his mother. 

“Something is wrong,” said Mrs. Clifford, as she 
stood on the door-step ; “ the creature will not move.” 

“ O dear me, no, ma’am ; the pretty dear is always 
used to stop here; I don't know I have ever seen it pass 
by without !” 

“ What for f” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ Why, you see, ma’am, my poor old mother is blind 
and bedridden, and that sweet lady that’s gone was the 
very light of her life, and I never saw her so much as 
pass by once. She used to get off at this door-step, and 
the pretty creature knew it as well, and would never 
have wanted the telling ; and if she was in a hurry for 
time, as she would be sometimes, why then she just 
rode up to that little window, it goes open with a shove, 
and it’s just above my old mother’s bed, and there she 


326 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


would speak a cheery word to her, and then be off 
again ; and, dear me, how that word would lift up my 
poor mother’s spirits. She used to say the very sound 
of her voice was like heaven’s music to her, sent to 
comfort her up in her darkness. So that is all the 
meaning of the pretty creature’s holding to it so.” 

The sudden alarm Mrs. Clifford had taken, and now 
the sudden disclosure of the cause, were too much for 
her. She stepped into the cottage, and sitting down, 
leaned her face upon her hand, and wept. Herbert 
threw his arms around Snowflake, partly to hide his 
tears, and partly to atone for the stroke of the whip he 
had made her feel. The poor woman waited beside 
Mrs. Clifford in distress to know what to do, then 
hastened and brought her water in a glass. Mrs. Clifford 
soon recovered self-possession, and turning to the poor 
woman, said, “ I will see your mother.” 

The woman hastened into the inner room, and 
smoothing the bed-clothes, whispered, “ Here’s madam 
herself from the Hall ; the pretty creature would not stir 
a step, and madam is wholly overcome.” 

Then, hastening back again, she took Mrs. Clifford in. 
Mrs. Clifford went to the bed, took the old woman’s 
hand in hers, and sat down, but vain were all attempts 
to speak. The poor old woman felt her silent grief, but 
while the big tears from her sightless eyes rolled down 
her cheek, she said, “ 0, my lady, this world is the place 


FOOTSTEPS OF THE DEAD. 


327 


for weeping ! But the blessed dear is gone to Him who 
wipes all tears away ! Don’t I see her with my sight- 
less eyes, shining as bright as the morning’s ray up 
above in the holy heaven ? and don’t it lighten me up as 
the sound of her tongue did here ? I never thought to 
hear her horse’s feet ring down the lane again ; and now 
that you should come ! ’Tis a wonderful condescension, 
and lifts me up, that it does.” 

“ I will come and see you often,” replied Mrs. Clifford ; 
and she rose, strengthened by the old woman’s vision of 
faith, but unable to say more, pressed her hand, and left 
the cottage. 

It was the first visit Mrs. Clifford had ever paid to 
the poor and needy. The deep feeling and touching 
expression, the unassuming attention, the bright faith be- 
holding what her own faith had not realized, all these sur- 
prised her with their charm. That brief visit had planted 
in her heart the seed of a personal interest in the poor ; 
she felt, too, the peace of having shed comfort on another, 
and she stepped from the cottage door, unwilling so soon 
to leave the spot, yet feeling unable then to stay. The 
fear, too, of safety with Snowflake seemed lost in the 
deeper impressions now awakened, and a creature who 
could so follow the track of its departed mistress’s steps 
of love, was surely worthy of confidence ; so Mrs. Clifford 
took her seat by Herbert’s side, and ceased to look out 
for occasions of mischance. 


328 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


On through the summer lanes they drove, and the 
sweet air relieved the oppression of feeling. The drive 
was a lonely one; farm-houses and cottages stood right 
and left among the fields, but none by the road-side, till 
at the foot of a hill, sideways from the winding lane, 
they saw a cottage : a little boy stood beside the wicket- 
gate, clad in a coarse, round pinafore; his little cap, 
crushed up in his hand, left his fair curls uncovered, and 
his smiling eyes of blue looked down the winding lane 
as if with listening expectation. 

The boy was Rose’s little friend, Johnnie Lambert, the 
widow Lambert’s only child. Quick as thought the 
listening boy, at sight of Snowflake, darted into the cot- 
tage, calling, “ Mother ! mother ! the lady’s coming !” 
then back he ran to the wicket-gate, while the mother 
looked from the door. 

“ Stop and let us speak to that child,” said Mrs. Clif- 
ford ; for she saw the white pony was well known to the 
boy. 

The child made his deliberate and never-forgotten 
bow, and then raised his bright face as if to meet the 
look of some loved, familiar friend, but instantly the 
blank of disappointed hope chased his glad smile away, 
and running to the pony’s head, he sheltered himself 
there. 

Seeing the pony stopping at the gate, the mother 
stepped out and courtesied low. 


FOOTSTEPS OF THE DEAD. 


329 


“Your little boy knows tbe pony,” said Mrs. Clifford. 

“ Yes, ma’am ; Johnnie, come here and make your 
bow to the lady;” but Johnnie was giving his tears to 
Snowflake. “He takes on, ma’am, so about the dear 
young lady that’s better off ; he is always watching for 
her, and I can’t make him sensible that she is gone ! he 
ran in just now, for he thought it was her when he got 
sight of the pony.” 

“ Was she often here ?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ 0 yes, that she was ! All the time my poor hus- 
band kept about, she used to come and read to him, for 
he could not read a word, and I never saw a man so 
changed. He suffered a wonderful deal, for his complaint 
lay in the head, and nothing could ease it, and he lost 
ill his spirits, and was always fretting to live and get 
well ; but when she had showed him the way to heaven, 
all plain for him to walk in, and showed him how his 
Saviour called him to come unto him, he seemed to 
think of nothing else ; it was wholly a pleasure instead of 
a misery to see him.” 

“Has he been long dead ?” asked Mrs. Clifford. 

“ Over two years, ma’am ; but to me it seems all as fresh 
as yesterday. He lay six weeks in his bed, and all that 
time he never saw the dear young lady, only she used to 
send and inquire for him ; but he seemed past the want 
of her then, though before, when he was about, he would 
sit all day long and watch for her coming by ; but when 


330 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


he took to his bed, and she could not come, he seemed to 
be hanging only on his Saviour. I have heard him say, 
•when I sat by his bed, ‘ 0, I see Ilim ! I see Him!’ and 
then he would let me leave him and get my night’s rest, 
though he could not sleep a wink for pain, but it seemed 
as if heaven had opened above him. O, it was a 
wonderful change ! he said the dear young lady’s words 
had been life from the dead to him.” 

Herbert had slipped out of the carriage unperceived 
by his mother, and now, standing with the reins in his 
hand, was trying to comfort the child ; but he could not 
get him to speak, only to take a shy look at him now 
and then. 

“Poor dear!” said the mother, looking round, “it puts 
me so in mind of his father to see how he listens for the 
creature’s feet. The dear young lady took wonderful 
notice of him ; he can say many a thing she taught him, 
only he’s shy. When I ask him where his poor father 
is, he will point up to the sky, and say, 4 With God !’ 
but I can’t make him sensible that the dear young lady 
won’t be coming down the lane again.” 

“Tell him that we will come again,” said Mrs. Clif- 
ford, with an effort to retain composure; and Herbert, 
hearing this assurance, took his seat, and they drove on, 
watched out of sight by the widow and her orphan boy. 

But now it was necessary to decide which way to re- 
turn, either back through the lanes, and so to risk anoth- 


FOOTSTEPS OF THE DEAD. 331 

er halt at the blind widow’s door ; or past the church- 
yard gate; or by old Willy’s cottage. Herbert preferred 
the last, as best of the three, and before they reached the 
old man’s dwelling, they saw him in the distance, ad- 
vancing slowly on the road toward them. 

“There is old Willy himself!” said Herbert. 

“ Do not pass him by,” replied Mrs. Clifford ; “ stop 
and speak to him.” 

The old man stood some minutes beside the little car- 
riage, his white head uncovered, the very picture of beau- 
tiful old age. Mrs. Clifford talked to him, and with true 
feeling the old man made no reference to the one of 
whom each heart was full ; his feeling only struggled 
through in silent tears. He had changed away his week- 
day garment for an old coat of black, and in this, and a 
band of crape about his hat, wore the signs of mourning 
for her who had been more than child to him. At part- 
ing Mrs. Clifford said, “ I shall come and see you with 
my son.” 

“ A thousand thanks,” replied old Willy, as he bowed 
low to the lady, but his look of love turned full and 
rested on Herbert. 

“Yes, I shall soon come, Willy, very soon, and mam- 
ma too !” added Herbert, greatly relieved at the thought 
of the first sight of his aged friend being over. 

And so they returned to the Hall ; both had passed 
through much to try them in that morning ride, but not 


332 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


less to sootlie and elevate. The mother and the son 
felt as if they had that day entered on their sweet Mary’s 
path of love and service, and they longed to follow her 
steps in all. Herbert now often drove his mother out ; 
all fear of Snowflake was gone; the creature was allowed 
to stop at pleasure, and when a visit could not be made, 
some kindly word was spoken, till, in every dwelling 
where her child had shed the light of hope, and the 
peace of comfort, or the aid of knowledge, Mrs. Clif- 
ford followed her, gathering the blessed recompense that 
even the most aching heart must find in keeping God’s 
commandments, watered herself with heavenly consola- 
tion in watering others. While in Herbert’s young 
heart, so trained and disciplined, earth dayly gathered 
more of heaven ; and a depth of feeling and a power of 
thought and action beyond his years, enriched his life 
with personal and relative happiness. 


SUNBEAMINGS. 


333 


CHAPTER XVK 

SUNBEAMINGS ON THE STEPS OF POOR PATIENCE. 

Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.— 
Galatians vi, 2. 

The summer months left Patience in the work-house 
restored to health. And now another place of service 
must be found for her; the work-house made the choice, 
and we shall fi»d what it was. Patience took leave of 
her work-house home with a sorrowful heart ; and a 
heavy dread came over her as she drew near the place 
to which she was now engaged. It was a small house, 
a short distance out of the town ; and when Patience 
went in, she saw so many children crowded together in 
one small kitchen, that she supposed it to be an infant 
school. But no, it was a family of ten children, the 
youngest a baby of some few weeks, the next just able 
to step alone, the third a helpless little cripple, the fourth 
a rosy-faced girl of about five years of age, then twin- 
boys of seven, who, with the four elder boys and girls, 
went to a day school. The mother was busy at the 
washing-tub, and the children were all sitting and stand- 


334 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


ing about, the elder ones home from their afternoon 
school ; but when Patience came in, they all with one 
consent looked round on her. 

This was now to be the place of service Patience was 
to fill, maid of all work in the family of the foreman in 
Mr. Mansfield’s shop ; there were ten children, and all 
the washing done at home. It sounds like heavy work, 
but we must not, like old Nurse Brame, be led by sound 
alone ; and we may always remember that work prov- 
ing hard or pleasant depends far more upon the minds 
of those who rule and those who serve, than upon the 
amount of labor to be done. Robert, the eldest boy, 
had opened the door, and then ran back to -his mother 
to say the new girl was there. 

“ Bring her in, then,” said the mother. 

So in came Patience, still pale and timid, with her 
small bundle in her hand. 

“ Come in, come in, and see us all at once,” said the 
mother and mistress, without so much as making a 
moment’s stop in her washing. Then looking hard at 
Patience in the fire-light, she added, “What’s that all 
the show you have to make of strength ? Well, if you 
are killed with hard work, that will lie at your master’s 
door, for it was he hired you, not I ; remember that. 
Here’s plenty of work, and plenty of play too, so don’t 
be frightened. There, Betsy, you go and show the girl 
where to put her bonnet, and shawl, and her bundle ; 


SUNBEAMINGS. 335 

and then don’t lose a minute, but come and be after 
tea.” 

Betsy did as she was desired, and quickly returned 
with Patience to the kitchen. The early autumn even- 
ing was damp and cold, and when Patience returned to 
the family party, preparations for tea were beginning. 
The little parlor opened into the small kitchen, and 
Robert, the eldest boy, was kneeling down before the 
parlor stove blowing up the flame he had just lighted. 
Polly, the second girl, was setting out the tea-things, and 
the moment Betsy returned, she began to take her part 
in fetching out the bread and butter and cheese, together 
with a large round cake, whose only claim to the desig- 
nation consisted in a few scattered currants, more thought 
of because so far apart that each one became a definite 
object; and this so-called plum-cake, with its scanty 
sweetening of sugar, was much more approved by the 
little group of children than slices of bread and butter. 
Patience had not been five minutes in the house, but on 
no account was she to stand idle. “What’s your name, 
child?” inquired the mother, still wringing out the wet 
clothes, and depositing them in a large white basket. 

“ Patience,” replied the new little servant. 

“ Patience ! Well, I have heard worse names than 
that. You may be sure you will have plenty of need 
of patience here, though there is no hardship for all 
that. I hope you have an apron ?” 


336 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“Yes, in my bundle,” replied Patience. 

“ Have it on, then, as fast as you can.” 

And up stairs Patience ran with a light, quick step ; 
there was something so animating in the universal stir 
below stairs, that she longed to be one among them all 
again, and in two minutes’ time she stood aproned before 
her mistress. 

“ Now take that wide shovel and gather up all those 
cinders by the grate here, and put them every one on 
the parlor fire.” 

So Patience gathered up the cinders, and laid them 
on the top of the nobs of coal, among which the cheer- 
ful blaze began to ascend. “ Now take the kettle and 
fill it at the tap there, and set it on this fire to boil,” 
said her mistress. 

Meanwhile, Robert had been out and shut the shut- 
ters ; Betsy had drawn the chintz curtains within ; Polly 
had lighted one solitary candle and set it in the middle 
of the tea-table ; the mother had wrung out the last 
little garment, and the whole collection lay piled in the 
large white basket ; the water was poured from the wasli- 
ing-tub, the tub set up, the stool on which it stood put 
aside ; the whole kitchen then looked in perfect order. 
The mother drew down her sleeves, changed her coarse 
blue apron for a white one, and in they all went to tea. 
The baby sleeping in its cradle had woke up some min- 
utes before ; but Betsy had lifted it out and rocked it in 


SUNBEAMINGS. 


337 


her arms, till the mother, seated in the low-back chair 
beside the parlor fire, received it. The children dragged 
out their stools and chairs ; little Esther, the ,child of five 
years, not having yet learned the division of labor, pulled 
hard at a parlor chair for herself with one hand, and at 
the poor little Cripple’s high chair with the other. 
Patience caught sight, amid the active group, of little 
Esther’s attempt, and, running up to her, reached over 
her head, and laying hold of both chairs, pulled gently 
also, when, to the child’s perfect satisfaction, both chairs 
moved slowly and steadily to the table. Esther would 
by no means leave her hold till the chairs were drawn 
quite close; so Patience slipped behind them and pushed, 
till the little Esther, stooping half under the table, 
peeped up with a grave look, and suffered Patience to 
lift her into the parlor chair, gravely observing, “ I did 
pull two chair.” 

And through the heart of Patience passed a warm 
feeling for the child ; and a sense of active life, with its 
native charm of cheerful energy, rose still more freshly 
within her at this first successful aid rendered to the 
child. And now Betsy placed the little cripple in his 
chair, and Esther looked up at Betsy, repeating, “I did 
pull two chair!” and Betsy said, “Good Esther!” and 
hastened away to fix up the next baby of eighteen 
months old. Now there was one small blue plate set 
down between Esther and the little cripple. Esther put 


338 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


her hand upon it by way of claim, but did not take il 
nearer ; then the little cripple reached out his hand and 
said, “Me! me!” Esther shook her head, for it was 
hard to give up the plate that was the earnest to her of 
food, but Patience, whose attention was all alive, caught 
sight of the difficulty, and put another ‘blue plate close 
before Esther, who then pushed the other gently to her 
little brother, and, looking up at Patience, said, “ I did 
give it him.” 

All the little ones being seated, Betsy cut the bread 
and butter ; Robert cut a piece of cake for each ; 
Polly filled the mugs half full of water, and poured 
water into the tea-pot for the tea, while all the little 
ones looked on. This divided labor was quickly accom- 
plished ; after which the mother stood up with the babe 
in her arms, the elder children stood also, and Robert 
asked the blessing; for at meals, when the father was 
away, this was always Robert’s office. 

Patience had a corner at the table, and made as 
hearty a meal as any of them : the good mother, seeing 
her hesitate at first, took care to say, “ Come, Patience, 
girl, make haste ; you have earned your tea, though you 
may not think it !” 

There was no riot at the meal : the children, trained 
in good order, found no pleasure in confusion ; and hav- 
ing had no food since their early, frugal dinner, their 
best amusement was to eat. All the play had come 


SUNBEAMINGS. 


839 


before tea, and now, the moment it was over, and Robert 
had given thanks, while every little one was silent, with 
clasped hands, Betsy and Polly took off the baby of 
eighteen months and the little cripple, each in their 
arms, to bed ; and the mother bid Patience follow with 
Esther, who looked very grave, but quite willing to go 
with her helper of the tea-table. Patience found that 
Esther was to share her little bed, in a room just large 
enough to hold the bed and one chair. The little crip- 
ple and the baby of eighteen months were soon laid to 
their sleep, and Betsy went down with Polly to bring 
up the twin boys of seven. 

When Patience returned to the parlor, the tea-table 
was cleared of all that had been used, and what remain- 
ed was set in order for the father’s return ; the boys, 
having so arranged the table, were already at their tasks 
for school the next day, and the mother putting the in- 
fant to rest. Patience was set to wash up the tea things 
in the back kitchen ; while Betsy and Polly sat down to 
their lessons. 

The baby slept in the cradle ; and when Patience had 
finished washing up the tea things, and had been shown 
where to put them away, her good mistress said, “ Now 
for your thimble, as quick as possible !” And Patience 
had a seat at the table, and one of the children’s socks 
given her to darn. But Patience was no darner; she 
had never been taught, for there are but few schools in 
22 


340 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


which any pains is taken to teach children to mend, 
though, to the children of the poor, the skill to mend 
well is hardly less needful than to make. Poor Patience 
felt her spirits sink; she could not do the work, and 
now she thought her troubles would begin ; and the 
timid child, only so lately warmed with the glow of 
kindness, dreaded a sharp word more than anything. 
But sharp words were not given in this her new abode 
without a needs be. 

The good mistress saw the color rise to the pale face 
of Patience, over the sock ; so, calling her to her, she 
said, “ I can see you are no match for your task ; well, 
never mind, bring your stool here, and sit down and 
learn. There will be no time lost, in the end, by good 
learning in the beginning.” 

So Patience took her seat by her mistress, and learned 
to darn, as little Jane had learned by her mother’s side ; 
only that Patience, being much older, learned to darn a 
great deal quicker, and did not want so much attention 
as Jane had done. While Patience darned, the foui 
children who were sitting round the table repeated their 
lessons to their mother. 

They had had tea at five o’clock, and all their lessons 
were learned and repeated by eight, except those of the 
youngest boy. The moment the clock struck eight the 
books were all put away, and the boy whose lessons were 
not learned, with a sorrowful face, wished his mother 


SUNBEAMING S. 


341 


“ Good-night,” and went up to bed in the dark. This 
was done without a word more being said, for it was 
the constant rule of the house. If the school lessons 
were not learned from six to eight, no more time was 
given, as the lessons were not hard or long, and learned 
in less time whenever the children were diligent; and 
the mother’s principle was, neither in work or lessons to 
allow time to be wasted. Then the girls sat down to 
their work of mending or making, and Robert to knit- 
ting, the boys being never idle when the girls were busy. 
Presently, home came the father to their glad welcome. 
He sat down to his tea and supper both in one, while 
the mother and the children worked and talked, and Pa- 
tience darned her sock. 

As soon as the father’s supper was over, Patience 
cleared all the things into the back kitchen, as directed ; 
the great Bible was put on the table, the children 
brought theirs, Patience was sent to fetch hers, her own 
little Bible that Miss Wilson had taken her in her first 
place of service ; and then father, and mother, and chil- 
dren, all read a chapter, verse by verse, and Patience 
had to read with them. Then the father questioned the 
children, and he questioned Patience also, and looked 
pleased with her answers : and then they all knelt down, 
and the father offered up the evening prayer. After 
this, Robert and the girls went to bed. Patience 
washed up and put away the things from her master’s 


342 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


supper ; and then, to her surprise, she found her work 
was done. In fact, everybody’s work was done ; for all 
the house was in order, and Patience went up to her 
closet of a room where little Esther lay sleeping. With 
what a thankful heart did the orphan child offer up her 
evening thanksgiving and prayer! and then taking her 
treasured half-crown, which she had kept through all 
her troubles and changes, she looked at it, and wished 
that beautiful lady could but see how happy she was 
now ! And she lay down to sleep, as if suddenly brought 
in the midst of a home’s bright circle all her own. 

The next morning her mistress called her at six o’clock, 
and was surprised to see Patience come out from her 
closet ready dressed. She had heard her mistress 
rising, and risen herself. 

“What, up and dressed !” said her mistress. “Well, 
you mind my word, I never knew a bad servant an 
early riser. Now, then, we shall be at work before the 
girls to-day !” 

The pleasant stir soon began below. Patience had, as 
quick as time itself, to light up the back kitchen fire ; 
then to brighten up and lay the parlor fire, while Betsy 
followed to sweep the room and dust the chairs; and 
while the chairs were dusting, Polly set the breakfast. 
Robert was out in the little garden, fixing the clothes 
poles ; and Thomas, the second boy, chopping wood and 
filling the coal-scuttle; while the good mother fried 


SUNBE AMINGS. 


343 


bacon for the father’s breakfast, and made the coffee. 
All as busy as possible, and all done by seven o’clock, 
when the father came down. He had been reading his 
Bible in the midst of his six sleeping children, and now 
he came down to breakfast with his four eldest. Patience 
also was called to the table ; and so they sat down to 
the morning meal. Each child repeated a text from the 
Holy Bible, and the father asked Patience if she could 
remember one; and she repeated the words, “I love 
them that love me ; and those that seek me early shall 
find me.” 

After breakfast the father read a Psalm, then offered 
up the morning prayer, and hastened away to be at the 
shop by eight o’clock. Then Patience went up stairs 
with Betsy and Polly to dress the children ; the mother 
prepared their breakfast ; Robert worked in the little 
garden, which had its autumn as well as its spring and 
summer flowers ; but Thomas had to sit within and get 
his lessons perfect. At a quarter to nine, boys and girls 
were off to school; the twin boys were taken to an infant 
school by their elder brothers, on their way to their own 
school ; the poor little cripple played hour after hour on 
his sofa-bed with a doll ; Esther talked to Patience, and 
stepped about at her side, while the baby of eighteen 
months old sometimes played on the floor and sometimes 
slept. At twelve o’clock the children all came home; 
when, to the surprise of Patience, the baby of eighteen 


S44 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


months and the little cripple were put into a light, wooden 
carriage, and all the children went out for a walk together, 
Robert and Betsy taking the charge. Then Patience 
and her mistress ironed away till one o’clock, when they 
all returned. Betsy and Polly made ready the little 
ones ; Robert and Thomas set the dinner-table, and all 
were seated with hungry appetites to eat the food pro- 
vided for them. 

Day after day passed on, till Patience felt more like 
an elder child and sister than a servant in the house. 
Betsy and Polly confided to her their secret hopes. 
Betsy’s desire was to learn dress-making, and be a 
lady’s maid, as her mother had been before her ; and to 
this end her mother trained her. Polly meant to be a 
kitchen maid first, and then cook, with the hope of being 
one day a housekeeper, and taking charge of stores, 
which seemed to her the most interesting of work; 
accordingly, every jar and bottle in the house was put 
under Polly’s keeping ; she gave out the dayly supply, 
wrote the labels, tied down the jars, made some preserves 
in the summer-time, and took every opportunity of doing 
the cooking. Robert had a hope of being taken into 
Mr. Mansfield’s shop, where his father was foreman ; 
while Thomas as yet had no definite desire or prospect 
in life. Months passed away in this happy family, till 
all the paleness was gone from the cheek of Patience ; 
and her figure, becoming stout and strong, seemed made 


SUNBEAMINGS 


845 


for untiring work. She had taught Esther her own short 
morning and evening prayers, learned by her when at 
school ; and the little girl now never lay down at night, 
or rose up in the morning, without offering them up. 
She had become a monthly subscriber to the Church 
Missionary Society. Her master, with his ten children, 
was a subscriber ; the children would often earn or save 
some offering for it also; and when Patience received 
her monthly wages, she always paid sixpence to the same 
blessed object. 

A year passed away, and Patience went to call on 
Miss Wilson, but Miss Wilson did not know her ; could 
not believe the change, till, on talking with her, she found 
this rosy, strong, active-looking girl, full of life and cheer- 
ful spirits, was the pale, thin, silent child she had known 
so long at school. Patience told Miss Wilson of her 
happy life in her mistress’s house, with ten children, 
and she, maid of all work, with all the washing done 
at home; and how the little one who slept with 
her had learned her prayer, and said it night and 
morning; and how her master subscribed to the 
Church Missionary Society, and she subscribed also. 
And there, in the midst of life and cheerfulness, we 
leave Patience for the present. 

Rose had done with school, happy at the thought of 
living always at home. It was not long, however, before 
her happiness met her first sorrow in the loss of Miss 


346 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Clifford. She had stood between her father and William 
at the funeral ; and, in the long summer days, she and 
little Mercy had cried together. The yellow harvest 
came ; and when the reapers’ work was done, and the 
last sheaf carried, and William had stood aloft on the 
point of the high, round stack, with the last sheaf in his 
hand, before he laid it under his feet ; and the men in 
a circle round had sung the “ Harvest Home and the 
fields were left bare; and the thresher’s flails sounded 
from the barn then another sorrow came for little Rose ; 
a sorrow for her home and for the farm. William had 
a good situation offered him in a London shop. Farmer 
Smith’s brother was a London dry-good’s merchant. 
William had always been a favorite with his uncle, and 
now his uncle’s son had left the store to follow a business 
he liked better ; and the place of trust which he had held 
was offered to William, and a high salary was offered with 
it, for his uncle wished much to have him ; and knowing 
William’s love for the farm-work, he was afraid unless 
he made the offer very tempting that it would be 
declined. 

But it was not money that would have tempted 
William away from his father’s farm, if it had not 
been for his father’s and his young brothers’ sakes. It 
was some years since Farmer Smith had been able to 
lay by any profits. In one bad farming year he had 
been obliged to borrow money on some cottages built 


SUNBEAMINGS. 


347 


by his mother, and left to him by her; he had been 
unable to pay the money or the interest upon it, and 
now the cottages were no longer his ; they had become 
the property of the man who lent him the money ; 
they had cleared him from debt, but he had nothing now 
beyond the yearly produce of his farm ; and one bad 
farming year might put him in difficulty again. 
William worked like a laborer on the farm, and 
was worth two other men, because his mind and his 
heart were in all he did. But there were four younger 
boys ; and Farmer Smith knew not how he should pro- 
vide for them. If William went to London, it was not 
unlikely that he might find situations for some of his 
brothers there. So Farmer Smith decided that William 
should go ; with a heavy heart he decided that William 
should go. William felt as if all the outward joy of life 
would be darkened for him, away from his home and 
his father’s farm, shut up all day where fields were out 
of reach ; but he chose the higher pleasure of doing that 
which would be most likely to relieve his father, and aid 
his younger brothers. The boys thought it was a fine 
thing for William to go to London. Rose tried to be 
as cheerful as she could ; but Mrs. Smith never gave so 
much as one pleasant look, from the time it was decided 
for William to go. 

Mr. Clifford was sitting alone in his study, when 
an impatient knock at his door roused him from his 


348 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


book. “Come in” he said, in a tone that seemed 
to guess the intruder. Herbert entered, out of breath 
with haste. 

“Papa, what do you think I have just heard in 
the village? Young Smith is going off directly to 
a situation in London, to a store; only think, papa. 
I would not lose such a fellow as he is from the 
place for anything; and I am sure he would not 
go if he could help it. Don’t you think something 
could be done to prevent it, papa ?” 

“We must first know whether his friends and him- 
self would wish anything to be done to hinder his 
going; perhaps he may feel it to be to his future ad- 
vantage to go, however sorry they may all be at present 
to lose him.” 

“Well, then, papa, suppose I just go down to the 
farm and hear ?” 

“I think it would be wise to go and learn a 
little more what the facts of the case are, before 
you and I decide here what is to be done to pre- 
vent it.” 

“ Well, then, papa, so I will, and come and tell you.” 

So the father suffered the boy to go in his warm im- 
pulse to the farm. Seated in the great farm-kitchen, he 
gave full expression to his thoughts and feelings on the 
subject : Mrs. Smith, for the first time, heard opposition 
to the plan equal to her own; she brought the young 


SUNBEAHINGS. 


340 


squire her home-made cake, but he was too intent on his 
subject to partake of such hospitality. Farmer Smith 
talked the subject long over with him, and child as he 
was, told him the hopes he built on his eldest son’s de- 
parture, as if he had been a long-trusted friend, a due 
recompense for the boy’s warm feeling. 

Herbert returned to his father more than ever inter- 
ested for the Smiths, and for William in particular ; but 
convinced that it would not be the thing to attempt to 
hinder the London plan. Deep in William’s heart sank 
the memory of the young squire’s unwillingness to lose 
him from the place ; the warm feeling that had been ex- 
pressed soothed the pain he felt at going. It cheered 
his father’s heart to think how his son was valued by 
those above him ; and even Mrs. Smith seemed softened 
into more gentleness on the subject, now she knew that 
her favorite William was not likely to be forgotten in his 
native village. Such the large results that oftentimes 
might follow, lasting on enduringly, from the spontane- 
ous feeling and unchecked expression of childhood’s true 
appreciation! When the autumn winds strewed the sear 
leaves upon the garden paths at the farm, there was no 
neat and careful William to sweep them away ; the great 
and busy city had received him. 

Herbert’s tutor did not find in his pupil the love of 
books that he naturally desired in one whom he had un- 
dertaken to prepare for study at college, and he commu- 


350 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


nicated to Mr. Clifford his anxiety and regret, that Her- 
bert, engaged by so many objects of interest, did not 
make the progress he could wish in his books. 

Mr. Clifford replied, “It is very natural, and very 
right, that you should feel anxious on such a subject; 
but we shall gain nothing by straining a point ; no com- 
pulsion will implant the love of books; and we have 
need to remember that books are but the scaffolding for 
erecting the mental structure. A mere man of books is 
rather a ready-made collection of material, than a living 
influence. It is my belief that a circle of human life, 
gathered by sympathy’s natural tie around a child, exer- 
cising every good and self-denying feeling the young 
spirit has, is likely to rear and leave a far nobler 
character, far more excelling in power and influence, than 
the mere student of books. But I would not have you 
discouraged even as to Herbert’s book-learning; I find 
him an increasingly intelligent companion, awake to 
every subject I bring before him, his mind free and un- 
burdened by the weight of mere acquirement. He is fol- 
lowing on in the right order, things heavenly before things 
earthly, the heart before the head ; and though I may 
not live to see it, I am not without the hope that he, 
who as a child has learned to minister with such self-de- 
votion to age and poverty, may yet bring down his 
country’s blessing on his head.” 

The tutor pressed his patron’s hand and then withdrew. 


LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE. 851 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

HERBERT LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE. 

Son, remember ! — Luke xvi, 25. 

When the next summer-time had come, filling the 
land with beauty, and fragrance, and plenty, telling of His 
rich bounty who “ is kind to the unthankful and to the 
evil, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust,” a 
messenger arrived at the Hall, asking to speak .with 
Mr. Herbert Clifford. . 

“ I am come from Mr. Sturgeon, sir,” said the man ; 
“ he is very ill, thought to be dying, and he begs you to 
pay him a visit as soon as possible.” 

Herbert went to his father. When Mr. Clifford heard 
the request, he said, “ Go by all means.” Herbert sent 
word by the messenger that he would follow immediate- 
ly, and was soon on his way to Mr. Sturgeon’s residence. 
Solemn thoughts filled his mind ; he was sent for by a 
dying man ; what could it be that Mr. Sturgeon wanted to 
see him for? Perhaps he wished before he died to do 
something for old Willy ; but old Willy had all he 
wanted now. 


352 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Herbert arrived at the house, and one of Mr. Stur- 
geon’s sons took him up at once to his father’s room. 
The dying man looked at him, and said, “I thank you, 
sir, for coming so soon. You are the only person in all 
the world I wished to see, for you, dear young sir, are 
the only one who ever came to me with the words of 
faithful warning. I don’t mean to blame my fellow-men 
I have heard the best of preachers, and the best of dis 
courses, but from all this I could, I did shield myself 
O, why did none come to me with the pointed arrrow of 
truth, and say to me personally, ‘ You are casting away 
eternal life! ‘you are putting earth before heaven?’ You 
did come to me, you did warn me, and I wish to thank 
you /or what might have been of eternal use to me if I 
had listened to your counsel.” 

Then Herbert took not as before the smooth stone for 
his sling, but the balm of healing and life, from the 
Epistle of St. James, all of which he had learned by 
heart. “ It is written in the Bible,” said Herbert, ‘ The 
prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall 
raise him up ; and if he have committed sins, they shall 
be forgiven him !’ ” 

Mr. Sturgeon seemed not to hear, or not to heed the 
words of peace. “ O, it is not the future, but the past,” 
he went on to say, “that presses on my soul with its 
iron yoke ; wherever I turn Z seem to hear a voice, and 
it says to me, ‘Son, remember :’ it says no more, but in 


LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE. 353 

those words there seems destruction. I do nothing but 
remember, and in remembrance there seems despair.” 

“But,” said Herbert, “our Saviour said we were to 
remember him, and that must be hope !” 

“Yes, I know it; he said we were to remember him, 
and if I had remembered him then, now I might have 
hope ; but I have lived to forget him ; I have forgotten 
him in the very church, where I professed to worship 
him ; I have forgotten him in secret, where I might have 
found him and made him my own forever ; I have for- 
gotten him in business, where I have taken the opinions 
of man, and not the heart-searching law of Christ for 
my rule; I have forgotten him in the world, where I 
have been more careful to honor myself than to show 
forth his praise; I have forgotten him in my so-called 
charities, for I still dared to give in my own name that 
which, but for the gain of oppression, might never have 
been mine. Yes, I have forgotten him, and now he 
knows me not.” 

The dying man made no mention of old Willy ; he 
could take a just estimate of sin now, and the sin of for- 
getting God, of thinking more of himself than of him, 
the Lord of glory, who died to open heaven’s gate to 
sinners, swallowed up the sense of all besides. He had 
sinned against old Willy, sinned against the man, it was 
true ; but the thought of this, for a time, was lost in the 
overpowering sense that he had sinned against Heaven, 


354 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and before God. The dying man gave Herbert his hand, 
and said, “ Dear young sir, I can say no more ; I wish- 
ed to give you my thanks, and to tell you freely that 
you were right and I was wrong, and that ‘ the way of 
trangressors is hard !’ May you reap the fruit of that 
truth which you tried in vain to plant in my heart !” 
Herbert rode slowly and mournfully away. 

The road home lay past old Willy’s cottage ; and 
there, in that warm summer afternoon, sat the old man 
on the bench beside his door, his hands resting on his 
staff, his broad-brimmed hat shading his eyes, and his 
head bowed in slumber ; beside him bloomed the rose 
and honeysuckle, while over him hung the large leaves 
of the vine; Herbert’s hand had planted them, meet 
emblems of the earthly and the heavenly love by which 
the old man’s life was blessed. Herbert left his horse 
with the groom, and walked up the straight path to the 
cottage. Swiftly had he run up that same path at the 
head of the gamekeeper’s boys, to rear up a blazing fire 
on old Willy’s hearth ; he had rushed up the same nar- 
row path to shout the glad tidings to old Willy that the 
home of all his life was to be his dwelling still ; he had 
hastened with a light foot, bearing the old man’s coat, 
his father’s Christmas gift. But now his step was slower, 
for it bore to old Willy’s side a heart oppressed with 
thought and feeling. Herbert felt as if he wanted to see 
the old man, to hear him speak, to hear him tell of 


LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE. 355 


heaven and his own bright hope, to dispel the gloom 
that had gathered round his spirit. Herbert went to 
old Willy, not now to give, but to receive. 

He stopped a little distance from the bench, unwilling 
to wake his aged friend ; he stopped and looked at him, 
his feeble, wasted frame, his white locks on his shoul- 
ders, liis labor-worn hands, and that green life and fra- 
grant blossoming of nature round him, its bright fresh- 
ness in strong contrast with his withered form. Herbert 
felt how he loved that lone and frail old man ; and as he 
felt how he loved him, he looked on the cottage his 
love had prepared ; there rose the firm, white walls, its 
close-fitting window and door, its warm and sheltering 
roof ; there lay the little garden before it, where plant, 
and herb, and tree seemed to grow rejoicingly out of 
the ground, pleasant to the eye, and good for the food 
of that old man ; and then in the hush of that summer 
afternoon, a still small voice spoke within Herbert’s 
heart, and said, “ Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto 
me!” Herbert looked up to* the cloudless sky above 
his head, as if he thought to see Him whose words then 
spoke within him ; he looked up, and he felt that old 
Willy’s God and Saviour, and his God and Saviour, 
looked down in love on him, and the gloom and the 
weight were gone from his heart, and the light and the 
love of heaven were there. Old Willy had slept in his 
23 


356 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


young master’s moment of need, but the God of all such 
as old Willy never slumbereth nor sleepeth, and he hath 
said, “If thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and 
satisfy the afflicted soul, then shall thy light rise in ob- 
scurity, and thy darkness as the noonday.” 

Now Herbert felt as if he had no longer need to 
stay and speak to old Willy, for heavenly peace had 
come without ; and though he still felt solemnized and 
sad, for the sorrow he had witnessed of one who had 
lightly esteemed the Rock of our salvation, yet the chill 
and the gloom were gone, and his need supplied. But 
as he turned to go, old Willy raised his head, and see- 
ing the young squire turning away, he rose quickly, 
and taking off his hat, said, “I beg your pardon, sir.” 

“ What for ?” asked Herbert, as he turned again, and 
sitting down on the bench, laid his hand on old Willy’s 
arm, making him sit down by his side. 

“ Do you know, Willy, that Mr. Sturgeon is dying ?” 

“No, sir; sure not dying!” 

“ Yes, they think him dying ! and he sent for me to 
tell me that I was right when I pleaded for you ; but O, 
Willy, it was dreadful, for he has no hope, and I could 
not comfort him !” 

“Well, master, ’tis better so than if he had a false 
hope !” 

“ But nothing can be worse than no hope, Willy, and 
he has no hope !” 


LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE. 357 

“ Yes, master, ’tis better to feel it. If the true hope 
be not there, ’tis better to have lost hold of every other ; 
for then, maybe, they will feel after the true hope and 
find it : maybe they will look up to their Saviour from 
the very gate of death itself, as the dying thief did. O, 
what a look he cast upon the Lord ! And that look 
found salvation in the Saviour for him, and he went into 
Paradise with the Son of God !” 

“ Then, Willy, you think Mr. Sturgeon may find 
hope in our Saviour even now ?” 

“ I pray God he may !” replied old Willy fervently. 

“ O, I wish he might !” exclaimed Herbert ; and then 
giving a smile to old Willy, in which hope and love 
struggled with the lingering sadness of expression, he 
departed. 

The dying man passed away from earth, and never 
could the boy, through life, forget the death-bed where 
the Saviour was not. 

The traces of bereavement and sorrow were marked 
most visibly in Mr. Clifford. The mother and the boy 
had felt their loss no less, but a light had sprung up for 
them on every side, in the general service of love to 
which they had turned ; they had taken their departed 
Mary’s bright ministry, and the hearts that mourned for 
her now looked to them for comfort. To Mrs. Clifford the 
personal work was new, and its results charmed with the 
sweet surprise of a power to bless comparatively untried 


358 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


before. And then she was not companionless in the 
work ; her boy, her precious boy, once so wild and will- 
ful, was her ardent companion, and shared the new in- 
terest to the full. 

But the father had lost the one who, from life’s earli- 
est childhood, had walked and rode beside him, visited, 
studied, read with him ; he found but one thing able to 
soothe the aching void her absence left, that one thing, 
the word of God; that was his solace now; it took his 
lost one’s place. It soon became evident how high the 
fountain of eternal truth rises above its purest streams; 
how deep the well-spring of eternal love, compared with 
the most purified of earthly vessels. Continual converse 
with the Divine Word irradiated all his life with 
heavenly light, the “ conversation in heaven,” the con- 
stant thought for others, the tone of deeper feeling, the 
calmer firmness even of censure, all bore witness of a 
drawing nearer to the home of perfect love and truth, a 
. rising now in spirit to breathe more of its pure atmos- 
phere while still on earth. But failing health denied him 
all active effort; and his bowed form and feebler step 
told of earth’s decay. Change of scene and climate 
were urged as the only hope of imparting new vigor. 
Mr. Clifford at first refused, but at last yielded to Mrs. 
Clifford’s anxiety a reluctant consent, and arrangements 
were made without delay for going that autumn to 


LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE. 359 

When Mr. Clifford had consented to leave his home 
for a foreign land, he sent for the aged minister of the 
place, and receiving him alone in his study, addressed 
him, saying, “ I have sent for you, dear sir, to say to 
you as a dying man, which I believe myself to be, 
what I ought long ago to have said to you in health. 
You were appointed to hold the lantern of the word of 
life to this people, but you show them not its light. 
You preach its moral precepts, but He in whose light 
alone any can see the light of life you show them not, and 
therefore all your teaching is dark and dead ; unable to 
quicken one soul unto eternal life ; unable to guide one 
wanderer into the narrow way. I beseech you to con- 
sider what I say, for your own sake, and the sake of 
your people. And let me entreat you to pray earnestly 
that the Spirit of Christ, by whom alone he can be re- 
vealed, may yet be given you to enlighten the eyes of 
your understanding, that you may yet know the sin- 
ner’s only true ground of confidence, Christ in you the 
hope of glory. Forgive me for speaking plainly ; alas ! 
I ought years ago to have warned you in faithfulness, as 
I do now. I have also a request to make, I make it as 
the request of your dying patron, that you will allow 
me, before I go, to provide a curate to aid you in your 
ministry here. I will furnish you with his yearly salary. 

[ will promise that he shall be one who will walk in all 
lowliness toward you and toward all men, one whom 


360 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

you may make a stay and comfort in your declining 
years ; but one also who will teach and preach Christ 
Jesus, that Saviour who bore my dying child through 
the valley of the shadow of death, causing the dark 
valley for her to glow with the glory of his presence ; 
that Saviour, to whom I look in humble hope of his 
infinite mercy to bear and carry me; that Saviour, dear 
sir, whom you will need, without whom there is no sal- 
vation ; and it will be my earnest prayer that in hearing 
him preached, you may be enabled to lay hold on the 
hope set before you in the Gospel.” 

The aged minister did not refuse his patron’s wish ; 
did not refuse to heaken unto counsel. It sounded to 
him as a thrice-repeated warning, first heard in the sobs 
of his people, who wept at their young teacher’s grave, 
then in old Willy’s simple words, and now from the 
lips of one who had always treated him with kindness 
and consideration. 

Before Mr. Clifford left, he assembled all his tenants 
and dependants to a dinner provided in his park. After 
the repast, the different groups were gathered in one, 
and Mr. Clifford came among them, his hand upon the 
shoulder of his boy, on whom he leaned ; then uncov- 
ering his head, he said, in a voice distinctly heard, “ My 
friends, I am going a long journey, and I wished to 
take my leave of you. I am not going by my own 
desire, for I would myself have chosen to abide the 


LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE. 361 

will of God here, whatever that will may be ; but our 
own feelings must sometimes yield to the judgment of 
others. I wished, before I left, to thank you for the 
affection you have manifested toward me and mine. In 
the earlier days of my residence among you, some pain 
might have been spared to you and to me, if you had 
better understood my aims and wishes, and if I, perhaps, 
had had more skill and patience in making them known 
to you. But we have now, I believe, lived long enough 
in connection to gain mutual confidence. If there be 
any among you who have any grievance, past or pres- 
ent, to complain of, I ask them, with all friendliness of 
feeling toward them, to come and state it to me before I 
go, that, God permitting, I may leave no thorn behind in 
any heart, without the prayerful effort to remove it thence. 
For all in which I have been wanting toward you, I 
ask your forgiveness in the sight of Heaven ; and most 
of all, that I have not done more to teach you the good 
and the right way. I have desired you should know it, 
but I have made too little effort to accomplish that de- 
sire; I pray you seek it for yourselves more earnestly 
than I have sought it for you, for the promise that they 
shall find the Lord and Giver of Life is given to none 
but those who seek with all their heart. One blessed 
child I had who lived and died among you, and I may 
safely say to you, ‘Be ye followers of her, as she w r as 
of Christ.’ I commend my son to your prayers, that he 


362 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


may have grace from above to commend himself to your 
affections. And now, my friends, I commend you to 
God, and to the word of his grace, which is able to 
build you up, and to give you an inheritance among all 
them which are sanctified, through faith which is in 
Christ Jesus.” 

Thus it was the squire took his leave. One thing 
more he did, and that was to see a white marble slab 
raised on the wall within the village church-yard, where all 
the poor could see it, and on it was written his daugh- 
ter’s name, and age, and place of residence, and this text, 
“ Remember ye not that when I was with you, I told 
you these things ?” 

Herbert took leave of old Willy. “ Never mind, 
dear Willy,” said the boy with choking utterance, “ I 
shall come back again to take care of you; I shall 
never forget you, and you will live here in quiet, and 
everybody will be kind to you when they know I am 
gone.” 

And the old man blessed him, weeping. The family 
drove from the Hall, the roadside lined with those who 
mourned their loss ; they left their home for a foreign 
land. There, with the same devotion with which he 
had watched his dying sister, Herbert tended his dying 
parent; and the natural impetuosity of his character 
deepened into quiet strength. Mr. Clifford lived six 
months abroad, and then he died. 


LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE. 363 


He said, “ I have not the same radiant sunbeam of 
faith that lighted my Mary’s steps through the valley of 
the shadow of death ; but I have the peace of an as- 
sured hope that my Saviour hath loved me, and washed 
me from my sins in his own blood ; and that because he 
lives, I shall live also.” 

Mrs. Clifford felt unable to return to her home after 
this bereavement; she decided to remain abroad until 
the time when it would be necessary for Herbert to re- 
turn to his studies at college. Herbert worked dili- 
gently with his tutor ; but the book he loved the best 
was his father’s Greek Testament ; his father’s constant 
companion in the last years of his life, and his parting 
gift to Herbert. With this he would wander forth be- 
fore his mother’s time of rising, while the early morn- 
ing glowed in rose and purple on the snowy mountain 
heights and the overhanging clouds, winding alone 
through the steep mountain-path ; or when evening fell, 
seated in the Swiss peasant’s lowly chalet, reading of 
the “ Lamb of God who taketh away the sin of the 
world.” Then again in some boat of transport on lake 
or river, while his mother yielded herself to the calm 
influence of earth and sky, as they glided on between 
the blue water below, and the bluer heaven above, Her- 
bert with the same book of life, the same small book 
Lis hand could cover, but whose span was infinite, and 
date eternal ; with that wondrous book Herbert would 


864 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


talk to the benighted sailors, or the traveling peasants, 
or not seldom to some company of Romish priests, 
winning the hearts of even those whose spiritual fetters 
he could not break, till sometimes the young priest 
would take his leave with his arms encircling the neck 
of his gentle but dauntless opponent. Thus passed 
away Herbert’s early youth, while he gazed intently on 
the volume of nature’s beauty; the volume of man’s 
recorded thoughts; and the volume of Divine inspira- 
tion. 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 365 


CHAPTER XIX. 

HOW FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN HELPED EACH 
OTHER. 

Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, 
To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep 
himself unspotted from the world. — James i, 27. 

“ Why should we fear youth’s draught of joy, 

If pure, would sparkle less ? 

Why should the cup the sooner cloy, 

Which God hath deign’d to bless ?” 


The arrival of the curate in the village was a subject 
of great interest, and tended more than any other event 
probably could, to alleviate the sorrow felt on the depart- 
ure of the squire’s family. Many there were who went 
to church on the first Sunday, in expectation and hope, 
and among these was little Rose; her face gathered 
brightness when the prayers were read with fervent dis- 
tinctness, but as the new minister preached, it became 
beaming with joy ; and no sooner had they passed the 
church’s door than Rose exclaimed, “ 0, father ! that is 
just like our minister at school ; that is exactly how he 


366 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


preached. 0, I am so glad ! Did you not like that, 
father?” 

“ Yes, dear ; I could sit all day to hear such words 
as these. I thank God he is come in my time.” 

Mrs. Smith had hastened on before with a still quicker 
step than usual, and when Rose reached home with her 
father, her mother was already preparing the dinner. 
If Rose had looked at her mother’s face she would have 
seen no pleased expression there, but she was too full 
of delight to question the possibility of any one feeling 
different ; so she ran in to the family kitchen, and ex- 
claimed at once, “ O, mother ! was not that beautiful 
preaching ? That was just like our minister at school.” 

“ I am sure I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Smith ; “ it 
may be beautiful enough for some, but certainly not for 
me.” 

“ What ? did you not like it, mother ?” 

“ Like it, child ! I don’t know who would like to be 
told that when they have done their best, and lived re- 
spected as I have done, and always kept their church, 
that for all that they must turn and seek the same way 
to heaven as the worst of sinners.” 

“ 0, mother ! that is because Jesus our Saviour is the 
way, as the minister said in his text : ‘No man cometh 
unto the Father but by Me.’ ” 

“ Well, child, I don’t know as to what the way may 
be ; I only know I have lived a very different life from 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDRENS. 


867 


many ; and I don’t choose to be mixed up with them, as 
if I were the same as they.” 

“ But, mother, it’s because Jesus our Saviour is the 
only way to heaven, and every one must come to him 
who wants to go to heaven ; and he can take all theii 
sins away. Miss Clifford said she wanted to come to 
Jesus our Saviour.” 

“ Well, child, that might be, for Miss Clifford never 
did seem to consider herself above the lowest ; but, for 
my part, I can’t come to that; but I don’t mean to 
talk about it ; there is no need for you to change your 
mind, nor I mine.” 

Rose said no more ; her sudden joy was dashed as 
suddenly with disappointment. From this time Mrs. 
Smith made a point of never going to church when she 
knew the curate was to preach; her temper became 
more trying to all around her, and if it had not been 
for the comfort of the Sunday’s sermons, Rose and her 
father wotlld have found it hard to keep up their spirits 
through the week. 

What was pain to Mrs. Smith was not only comfort 
to Rose and her father, it was also joy to old Willy. 
Twice on the Sabbath day the old man climbed the hill, 
supported by his staff, and the glad sound was always 
new life to him. The weekly visits also of the curate 
were his delight; but he always questioned him as to 
whether any tidings had been heard of his young maa- 


368 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


ter ; and he said it was a heart-affecting thing that he, 
an old man as he was, should live to see the young and 
good pass clear away like that ; one taken up above, and 
the other into foreign parts. But when at last a letter 
came to the curate, and a message in it to old Willy, 
written with Herbert’s own hand all those miles away, 
joy lighted up the old man’s eye, and he exclaimed, 
“ Who can tell but I shall see him yet again before I die?” 

The faithful Jem seemed to consider old Willy now 
as his peculiar charge ; scarcely a day passed that he did 
not look in at the cottage. The little plot of garden 
ground he took under his entire care ; there, early and 
late, was heard his busy spade ; it was Jem who dug 
up and stowed under ground the bright red potatoes, 
to protect them from the snow ; Jem, who managed to 
buy the old man’s coals at less cost in the town, and 
brought them back in a return wagon of Farmer 
Smith’s ; Jem, who, when the snow had melted, planted 
the early vegetables; tended the flowers as spring came 
on ; cut the garden hedge ; and trained the vine above 
the lattice- window ; in short, Jem, the old man said, 
tended him like a prince ! Little Mercy, too, would 
often step up to the cottage, and find out work the old 
man wanted done; when his sight was dim she would 
read to him ; and sometimes she would take her knit- 
ting up, and sit and sing to him. Thus was old Willy 
tended still and comforted. 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 369 


A year and six months had passed away since Wil- 
liam left his home, and he had not been down once to 
visit it. His father had written in the autumn, and writ- 
ten again at Christmas, to ask him to come ; but Wil- 
liam returned for .answer that he could see no prospect 
yet of doing anything for his brothers, nor, therefore, of 
returning himself to live at home ; and that till he did, 
he could not trust himself to come, for fear he should 
lose his resolution, and not return to his work in London 
any more. But he sent his love to his mother, and he 
still hoped to sow and reap again with his father for her ; 
his love to Joe and Samson, and he still hoped to make 
great men of them; his love to Ted, and the first good 
birth he could find on board ship should be his, if he 
would learn well at school first ; his love to little Tim, and 
he would come home some day and teach him to plow, 
and till then Tim was to be sure and take care of Black 
Beauty ; and finally his love to Rose, and she must come 
up and see him in London ; and so, wishing a happy 
Christmas to them all, ended William’s second Christ- 
mas letter. 

When the spring-time came, tidings arrived in the 
village of the death of the squire, and the continued 
residence of his lady and her son abroad. The loss was 
much felt, for the squire was greatly beloved ; and it was 
all the more felt because his affairs were left in such per- 
fect order, that no tenant’s sense of the loss of a friend 


370 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


■was turned into anxiety as to personal concerns ; all felt 
a friend and counselor was gone, and felt it still the more 
from the tokens of care for their interest and comfort 
which the communications received made evident. 
Old Willy mourned the loss, and doubted now that he 
should ever live to see his own young master any more. 

The hay-time was scarcely over w'hen an invitation 
came to Rose from her uncle in London to pay him a 
visit. Rose was much pleased with the thought of 
going to London ; but her chief joy was the prospect of 
seeing William. Mr. Smith’s brother in London, Mr. 
Samson Smith, lived in a country-house, some few miles 
out of the great city. William met Rose at the inn 
where the coach stopped, and took her down to her 
uncle’s house. There seemed to Rose no end to streets 
or people, but she had few thoughts for them ; her joy 
at sight of her brother swallowed up all besides. Her 
uncle’s house was very different from her home ; there 
was a carpet all over the floor, paintings round the room, 
a pier-glass over the mantle-piece, and more than one 
sofa. Her aunt and cousins were very kind to her as 
well as her uncle ; but Rose felt strange, and when Wil- 
liam went away in the evening she could hardly keep 
from crying. But in a few days she was more at home; 
and her aunt took Rose into London with her cousins, 
and showed her some of the sights that make the great 
city so famous. Rose saw the wild beasts ; she saw also 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 371 


the Tower, where, in days gone by, so many a noble 
prisoner heard the key turn that separated him from 
all he loved on earth forever. Rose saw the river 
with its forest of masts ; she saw the streets again, and 
wondered how they could be all so full of people at once; 
but she saw nothing like her own sweet woods and 
fields, no rippling stream, no shading trees, no free bird 
warbling praise ; and she began to think about the time 
when she would go home again. She saw but little of 
William ; he could seldom get down except on Sundays, 
and then she could not talk much to him, before her 
aunt and cousins. 

Had the ministering child then nothing to do for others 
away from her home? O yes ! we have always something 
to do for others, and something to learn, wherever we 
may be. Rose tried to be useful to her aunt and cousins, 
but they were all very happy, and did not seem really to 
want her : her uncle was very kind to her, but he never 
seemed to want her ; the servants, too, were attentive to 
her, but they looked well and satisfied. William could 
seldom come ; and Rose thought of her own village far 
away ; she knew that there were many who wanted her 
there; some of the poor old people wanted her, she 
knew ; and her father she knew must miss her sadly ; 
and little Tim, and her mother also; and Rose felt 
she would rather be where she was really wanted, than 
seeing all the fine sights in the world. Was there no 
24 


372 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


one, then, who wanted Rose where she was gone to stay! 
You will hear. 

One day, in her aunt’s house, Rose heard a tale of 
sorrow. A poor man, a workman in a brewery near, 
had fallen into one of the great beer-vats, and been killed. 
He had left a wife and three little children, to live on 
earth without him, and the poor woman’s heart was al- 
most broken with her sorrow. A kind lady went round 
to collect a little money, that a mangle or something 
might be bought for the poor widow to earn her bread, 
and Rose’s aunt gave some money to help. The next 
day Rose heard the servants talking about this same poor 
woman, so she asked the housemaid about her, and the 
housemaid said, “ While they are collecting this money 
the poor thing is almost dying of distress and want.” 

H But don’t they go to see her, and take her some of 
it?” asked Rose. 

“No, they are keeping it all to do something to get 
her a living with ; and she is so distracted with grief no 
one likes to go and see her.” 

Rose said no more that day, but she thought in her 
heart that the love of Jesus could comfort any sorrow, 
and that if no one else would go, she ought to try and 
comfort the poor widow. So she asked the housemaid 
wkere the poor woman lived ; and the next time she was 
out alone, she had to pass the end of the little path that 
led up to her cottage. Rose thought it might be terrible 
















* 









■ 














t 



Page 373. 





FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 373 


to see such grief, but it must be worse to bear it and 
have no comforter, so she turned up the narrow pathway 
that led to the house ; she thought if she could not com- 
fort her, she could give her some money she had, that 
would buy her food for a little while ; so she went. She 
knocked at the door, and some one said, “ Come in.” 

Rose lifted the latch, and went in. There stood the 
poor widow, looking very pale, as if she had cried for 
days and nights. 

“I am so sorry for you,” said Rose; “I came to see 
you !” The poor woman sat down, and wiped away her 
tears with her apron ; and Rose sat by her and talked to 
her of Jesus, and the poor woman listened to all Rose 
had to say, and took what Rose had brought for her, 
and was as gentle as the ministering child herself. Then 
Rose went away, and she saw there was no need to be 
afraid of sorrow when we go to it in the name of Jesus. 
It was the poor widow, with none to visit her, who 
wanted Rose. 

"William had to go some distance on business for his 
uncle ; he was away several days, and when he returned, 
the time had come for Rose to go back to her home. 
William came down quite early in the morning to take 
her into London to the coach; and as soon as lie was 
alone with Rose in the fly he said, “ Rose, I have a secret 
l will tell you, if you promise not to tell father, or moth- 
er, or any one, till I write about it.” Rose promised not 


374 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


to tell, and William talked low and earnestly to her, and 
Rose listened, all anxiety, till the fly stopped at the inn. 
Then William put Rose into the coach, and as he leaned 
on the door, he said, “ 0 ! I would give all I have 
earned, to he going back with you, if it was only myself 
I had to think of.” And then charging Rose once more 
to keep the secret, the coach drove off, and Rose soon 
lost sight of William at the turning of the street, while 
full of joy she looked forward to her home. It was a 
long day’s journey ; but when the coach stopped at the 
little village inn nearest to her home, to change horses, 
there stood her father and the horse in the chaise, wait- 
ing for her. Very joyful was the meeting between Rose 
and her father. “ And what of poor Will ?” said her 
father, when Rose was seated by his side in the chaise, 
and they had started for home, “ what of poor Will ?” 

“0, he wished so he could come home with me,” 
replied Rose, “ I could not bear to leave him !” 

“ Poor boy !” said Farmer Smith ; “ I doubt we must 
have him home after all ; he will never settle so far from 
the place.” 

“ No, father, he would not live in London always, for 
any money ; but he would not leave it now, I know, for 
he says he shall stay till he has worked out his way for 
the young ones, all except Tim ; he says he never could 
part with Tim, and he knows that if he can only get back 
in time enough to teach Tim farming, that he will take 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 


375 


to it better than anything else, and I am sure Tim is 
more like William than any of them.” 

“ Well, I don’t know, I am sure,” said Farmer Smith; 
u but these are not times to settle boys out in a day, and 
I am sure I would not be the father to keep a son like 
him pining away from his home, seeking after what may 
never be found.” 

“ O father, William does not pine up there ! Why he 
is grown into such a man as you would never believe, and 
as busy as anything. I wish you could see him ; and I 
know a secret, father, only I am not to tell you nor any 
one else, so you won’t say anything, will you, father?” 

Farmer Smith looked down anxiously on his child’s 
bright face, but she did not perceive the anxiety of the 
look ; she thought if the subject-matter of a secret was 
not revealed, the fact of its existence could only be an 
allowable communication of satisfying interest; so she 
went on to say, “ It’s only good, father ; and if it comes 
to be, then you, and mother, and all will know it ; but I 
promised Will not to tell.”’ And Rose thought she was 
only giving hope and pleasure by her intimation of the 
existence of a secret, for how should her inexperienced 
childhood understand a parent’s anxious questioning ? 

Chestnut in the chaise trotted swiftly along, and Rose 
soon gave a shout at sight of her home, with its white 
vine-covered walls, its sheltering barns and stacks ; and 
then the yard-boy driving Fillpail, and Cowslip, and 


876 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Rosebud, and all their companions back from the milk- 
ing to their pasture in the valley. And then her 
brothers caught sight of the chaise, and ran out with 
their welcome, and little Tim came trotting after them ; 
and at the door stood her mother, in her afternoon 
gown of red-patterned print, and Rose thought how nice 
she looked ; and how fresh, and sweet, and clean all 
seemed, after the London suburbs and the dingy city she 
had left. 

When Rose was seated down after tea, her eager 
brother Joe and the little sprightly Ted began their 
questioning, and Rose with no less animation replied. 
At last Joe said, “ Well, I suppose William begins to 
find out that there is something better to be done than 
walking backward and forward over a field after a plow 
all the days of one’s life.” 

“ O, no,” exclaimed Rose, indignantly ; “ he savs 
there is nothing he counts on more than the day w r hen 
he shall lace on his plow-boots again on father’s farm !” 

“Poor boy! poor boy!” said Farmer Smith ; “I am 
sure there is nothing I count on like having him back 
again for good !” 

“ Why, then, did you ever let him go ?” asked Mrs. 
Smith. “ You know it was all your doing. If I had 
had my way, he never should have set his foot in Lon- 
don. By what I hear, they have people enough, and 
too many up there as it is, and why we should be send- 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 377 

ing our best off to them, I never did, and never shall see 
the reason of.” 

“ Well, wife,” said Mr. Smith, sorrowfully, “ it seemed 
as if it might be for the best in the end ; but I am sure 
I don’t know; and if we have not One above to order 
for us, I don’t know who is to tell what is for the best ! 
It’s certain I thought I should get over the loss of him 
better than I have.” 

“ I don’t suppose you thought about how you would 
get over it at all,” replied Mrs. Smith ; “ it never was 
your way; when you took a thing up you were for 
doing it, and then let the feeling come after as it might. 
I could have told you that you never would get over, the 
loss of him, only you would not have minded it if I had.” 

Mr. Smith made no further remark during tea, and 
as soon as it was over, took his hat and went out into 
his farm, to relieve his burdened spirit with the freshness 
of the evening air. And while the boys made haste to 
help their mother clear the tea-table, Rose slipped away 
after her father, and with her hand in his, soon dispersed 
the gloom that had gathered on his face. 

“ I wish enough,” said Joe that evening to Rose, 
“ that I had not said anything about William at tea ; 
mother always takes it up so, and then it vexes father. 
I only know I wish I could go to London too, for it 
is as dull as dullness always to be walking over the 
same fields, and see no one but the same ten heavy men 


378 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


all the days of one’s life. Did William say anything 
about me ?” 

Rose hesitated a little ; Joe’s quick eye turned instant- 
ly at her silence, and fixed upon her. “ He said,” re- 
plied Rose, “ that he was sure you would not like uncle’s 
shop any better than farming.” 

“No ; so I told him,” replied Joe. “I don’t see any 
more spirit in laying up and taking down bales of goods, 
and cutting yards of stuffs, than in putting in turnips 
and then taking them out again, and cutting them up 
for sheep, all over and over, year after year. What I 
should like, would be a merchant’s office, where some 
day I might travel, and not have nothing but what 
grows at one’s door to do with all the days of one’s life. 
Did Will say anything about that ?” 

“ He said,” replied Rose, “ that he would never give 
up trying after it, for he did not believe that, so much as 
you had read and thought about it, you would ever set- 
tle to anything else.” 

“What a good fellow he is!” said Joe; “he always 
did seem to care as much about what one felt, as one 
did one’s self, let it be the least thing in the world even ! 
If ever he makes a merchant of me, he shall see what a 
memory I have for things I have heard him say, and 
what I will get hold of and do to please him. I wish I 
was off, for there’s no getting on here ; all one tries to do 
seems to go for nothing, as to making any real difference. 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 379 

Just think what it would be to work one’s way up there, 
and buy this farm for father, instead of every now and 
then hearing it is likely to be sold over his head, or pay 
the rent for him ; or anything to keep off that harass 
that’s always upon him ; but somehow there seems no 
getting on, and no spirit in anything here !” 

“ O, Joe, the spirit is not in things, the spirit is in 
us ! I have heard William say that you may put spirit 
into anything ! And he thinks there’s nothing like 
farming for the pleasure of it.” 

“ Well, I am sure father says I do work well, but 
William said it was hard to settle to work you cannot 
get a liking for.” 

“ So 1 dare say it is,” replied Rose ; “ but only you try 
and be a comfort to father, and see if William does not 
find you something up in London !” 

Joe took the assurance of sympathy and comfort, and 
went the next morning with fresh spirit to his work. 

Rose was often seen looking out from door or window 
about the hour of ten, at which time the postman gener- 
ally arrived, and when she saw him climbing the green 
ascent to her home, she would run out to meet him and 
receive his store, but she still always returned with 
slower step ; no letter from William was there ! At 
length, one baking morning, when Rose was busy in 
the back kitchen making the harvest-cakes, Farmer 
Smith called Mrs. Smith and Rose into the parlor, where 


380 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


he stood with an open letter in his hand. The heart 
of Rose beat quick, for she guessed that the secret 
had come at last ! Farmer Smith shut the parlor-door, 
saying, “ Here is a letter from Will, and no time to be 
lost in attending to it.” So saying, he read as follows : 

Dear Father, — I hope I have gathered my first 
sheaf, after pretty near a two years’ waiting for it ; but 
I have often and often thought how you used to say, 
when I wanted to be hasty in housing the crops, “Wait- 
ing time is often the time that pays best in the end !” 
Well, father, I told Rose a bit of a secret, but she prom- 
ised to keep it, so I may as well tell you and mother 
from the beginning. You know how Joe has always 
been bent on a merchant’s office? I was so certain 
nothing else would content him that I always kept that 
in my eye ; but I never got so much as the least pros- 
pect or chance of trying for him. Well, a week before 
Rose went home, I had to go a journey on business for 
my uncle ; there was an elderly gentleman seated by 
me outside the coach, and we had not gone far when a 
terrible thunder-shower came on. I had an umbrella, 
for I had seen a threatening of it ; the old gentleman 
had none, and he was seated at the end just where the 
storm beat, so I said, “ If you will please to change 
places, sir ; I could shelter you better in the middle 
here.” At that, he looked up, and said, “I am sure 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 381 


you are very good to say so, but I have no right to ex- 
pect shelter from you, and an old man ought to be bet- 
ter provided against a storm than a young one ; don’t 
you consider so?” “ Well, sir,” I said, “ I don’t know 
but what the young have quite as much reason to look 
out as the old.” By this the old gentleman had changed 
his place, but he soon began to call out that I was get- 
ting his share of the storm ! “I am no way afraid of 
that, sir,” said I ; “I have been used to stand a shower 
all my days.” “ How is that?” he asked. “Well, sir, 
I was brought up to farming, and you can’t be a 
farmer and afraid of a shower ; but a soaking is danger- 
ous sometimes, when you are not used to it.” Then 
the old gentleman put no end of questions to me, and I 
found he knew pretty well about farming himself; he 
told me he was born and brought up on a farm, and 
certainly he pleased me better than any one I had met 
all the time I have been in London ; near enough now 
upon two years. In all that time Uncle Samson has 
never asked me half so many questions about you, and 
the farm, and the boys, as that old gentleman did that 
day, and all as if he cared to know ; it did me more 
good than any talk I had had since I left home. The 
old gentleman gave me his card at the end of the 
journey, and told me to call on him as soon as 1 re- 
turned to London, for he was going to return the next 
day. I found by his card that he lived not very far 


382 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


from my uncle’s, and when I showed it to him, he told 
me that he knew him well by name, and that he was a 
man of excellent standing, a merchant in London. O, 
how I thought of Joe ; and what if, after all, this should 
be the making of him ! I went down the very first 
evening to see him; he seemed to be living alone, by 
what I could make out, in a beautiful house, and cer- 
tainly he was one of the pleasantest persons I ever spoke 
to : he remembered every word I had told him, and 
there I sat talking to him just as if I had been at home. 
Well, it so happened that Joe being so much on my 
mind, I had told all about him outside the coach before 
ever I knew what the old gentleman was, and how glad 
I was to think I had, for I should not have liked to 
speak about it then ; I could not have done it half so 
well. The old gentleman never said a word of what I 
was so full of hope about, and when I went away I 
thought all was over, for he only said he should hope 
to see me again some day. Well, two days ago what 
should come but a note from him to invite me to dine 
with him. And then he told me that he had called on 
my uncle, and satisfied himself, as far as he could, that 
he was not venturing too much, and that he now offered 
me a situation in his office for my younger brother, pro- 
vided he proved capable on trial. “But,” he said, “my 
premium is a hundred pounds ; I require two hundred 
with the sons of gentlemen, and I have never taken any 


FARMER SMITH'S CHILDREN. 383 


with less. Do you think your father can provide that 
sura ?” Well, I knew, let it he where it would in a 
merchant’s office, there must be a premium, and I would 
not for anything have put a hinderance in the way, so I 
said, I hoped that might not be found to stand in the way 
of so excellent an offer. Then the old gentleman seemed 
satisfied ; and I should have been sorry not to give Joe 
as good a start as we could, and pay him regularly in : 
and as I dare say the old gentleman knows my uncle is 
rich, it might have looked encroaching on the kindness of 
his offer if I had made any difficulty. So now at last the 
thing is settled. But for the money ; take my advice, 
father, and do not worry to think it over yourself, for I 
have thought it all over and over again, and there is but 
one way ; and that way will soon do it. First, then, I 
have thirty pounds all ready at once, saved out of these 
two years : then, to meet the rest, there is but one thing 
to be done, Black Beauty must be sold ; don’t keep 
vexing about it, father ; but let it be done, and you will 
never repent it. I say the more, because I know you 
will think most about me in selling him ; but I -have 
made up my mind, and it would hurt me a great deal 
more to have any difficulty in Joe’s way with such an 
offer as this. Tell mother not to vex about the horse ; I 
can rear her another such, some day, when I am your 
farming-man again : he ought to fetch seventy pounds, 
tc say the least; but if you cannot get that at hands 


384 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


likely to do well by him, then you can make up the rest 
without much difficulty, hy selling off what remains of 
last year’s wheat. Let me decide for you, father, as I 
think I best can in this case, because I know the value 
of the offer. You must have Joe and the money ready 
in a fortnight ; and then tell mother when I have seen 
Joe settled, I will come home for a holiday. My love to 
all, and good wishes to Joe. 

Your affectionate son, 

William Smith. 

P. S. — At first I thought I would make an effort, 
and ask my uncle to lend me the seventy pounds ; but 
then I remembered that you have so often said to me, 
“Bear anything rather than borrow, Will.” So I did 
not ask my uncle ; and, I dare say, he supposes we can 
easily raise the money, for he never inquires much as to 
how farming stands. 

• 

“ 0, father,” exclaimed Rose, “ that’s the secret ! 
May I run and tell Joe?” 

“ And what do you mean to do ?” asked Mrs. Smith 
of her husband. 

“Well, I suppose we can’t do better than take 
William’s advice ; these are no times to bring up five 
boys on one small farm, and Joe has no mind to the 
work.” 

“I,” said Mrs. Smith, “always found I must put my 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 385 

mind in my work, and then my work came to my mind, 
and I have trained Rose in the same ; but, as I always 
said, you must rule the boys : only don’t let me see the 
horse led away, that is all I have to say and Mrs. 
Smith returned to the back kitchen. Rose stayed by 
her father’s side ; what would he have done but for his 
little comforter? “Never mind, father, never mind,” 
she said ; “it’s sure to be right, if William says so : you 
know it always is.” 

“Then you think it had better be as William says?” 
asked the father of his little daughter. 

“ O yes, father ! Joe is bent on London ; and William 
must know better up there, among so many people, than 
we do down here; only mother never likes things 
different; but she will be glad some day. May I go 
and tell Joe now ?” 

“Yes, if you like. Your mother’s taking things 
contrary, makes them a heavy burden. I am sure I 
am sorry enough for the poor beast; but it’s better 
than borrowing;'” and Farmer Smith took his hat, and 
Rose ran to look for Joe. She found him busy in the 
fields among the men; so, calling him on one side, she 
told him all, except about the horse, by which it was to 
be obtained. Joe rushed to the house, wild with joy. 
The first person he found was his mother. 

“ O mother, I am to be a merchant after all ! William 
has found me a place in London.” 


386 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“Well, I can’t help it,” said Mrs. Smith. 

“ No, mother, I don’t want it helped ; it’s the thing, 
of all others, I most wished for.” 

“ And what is the use of never being satisfied in one 
place till you are in another, I should like to know ?” 
asked Mrs. Smith. “ There’s William always sighing 
after his home ; and, I dare say, you will like London 
no better.” 

“Why, mother, Will never did like it; he always 
said it was only for us he went away; but it’s the 
very thing I have always longed for, so I am sure to 
like it.” 

“Well, I only hope it may be so,” replied Mrs. 
Smith; and Joe went off to look for warmer sympathy 
in his father. He did not look in vain ; but, after 
some conversation, Farmer Smith said, “I am sorry for 
the horse ; but it cannot be helped.” 

“ What horse, father ?” 

“ Did not Rose tell you ? We must sell Black 
Beauty to pay the premium.” 

“ Sell Black. Beauty, father ! no, that you must not ; 
William would never bear the sight of me, if his horse 
had been sold to get me up there. I would sooner not 
go.” And the lad’s voice faltered with struggling feel- 
ings. 

“ Yes, but it is William himself that says so,” replied 
his father. 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 387 


“Does William say so?” asked Joe. “Well, I never 
nought he could have given up so much for me.” 

Now it happened that the old clergyman had long 
taken a great fancy to Black Beauty, as a fine horse for 
his hooded carriage; and he had more than once asked 
Farmer Smith to let him know if ever he thought of 
parting with it ; so, acting on his son William’s advice, 
Farmer Smith lost no time in calling on the rector. The 
old clergyman seemed pleased with the prospect of pos- 
sessing the horse, but said that he had fixed the price 
that he would give, namely, fifty pounds, beyond which 
he would not go. Farmer Smith stated that the horse 
was worth more; that he felt no doubt a dealer would 
give him more ; that it was only a sudden necessity lie 
could not meet compelled him to sell the horse ; but that 
he greatly desired to secure a good master for him. Now 
the old clergyman was rich and had no children, but he 
made no inquiry as to why the horse had to be sold ; 
he only said, “ I hare stated the price I will give ; you 
must take it or not, as seems best to you.” Farmer 
Smith sat a few minutes in harassed thought; he 
wished his little Rose had been by his side, to say one 
way or the other ; at last, feeling for the creature out- 
weighed the hope of a larger price, and he replied : “ Well, 
sir, I would sooner let him go for less to a good master, 
than strain a point to get a bad one. The horse 
is worth full seventy pounds ; but as I am driven to it 
25 


388 


MINIS TE It ING CHILDREN. 


by necessity, I will take the fifty for him, if you please, 
sir.” 

“Very well,” said the old clergyman; “I gave fifty 
pounds for the best horse I ever had ; and I never mean 
to give more, or I may probably get a worse.” So 
Farmer Smith took the offer, and the horse was to be 
fetched away the next day. 

It was late in the afternoon when the rector’s coach- 
man came for the horse. Ted saw him. coming, and 
gave the alarm ; then ran off to the stable to give "Black 
Beauty his last supper. Joe followed slowly, and Rose 
with him, trying to cheer him ; but he took his stand, 
pale and silent, within the stable, half concealed from 
view. Samson stood with great composure at the farm- 
yard gate, watching the approach of the mau ; while little 
Tim, hearing from Molly what was about to happen, 
came running and crying as he ran, and lisping out his 
sobs, “No, no, naughty man, Back Booty not go; Will 
said, ‘Tim, take care of Back Booty!”’ Ted had filled 
a measure to the brim, and the high and gentle creature 
stooped his head to feed ; but when little Tim came sob 
bing in the creature turned from its food, looked hard at 
the child, and then stooped down its face to him, as if 
to caress and soothe. 

Then Farmer Smith and the coachman entered. 
Farmer Smith looked on the group one moment in 
silent feeling almost as strong as his children’s; then 


FARMER SMITH'S CHILDREN. 389 

stroking down his favorite’s silky mane, he said, “ There’s 
the horse ; I give him to you in good condition, and a 
better horse you cannot find.” 

“ I am sorry for you, sir,” said the coachman ; and 
Farmer Smith left the stable, unable to stay and witness 
the scene. 

“ You will let him get his supper first ?” said Ted, 
looking up, and holding the measure afresh to Black 
Beauty’s head. 

“ Go, naughty man, go quite away,” said little Tim. 
“ Will shall be very angry with you.” And the horse 
turned from its food again to the child. 

“ Come now, Tim,” said Ted, “ you won’t let him 
have a bit of supper.” And Tim suffered Rose to com- 
pose and comfort him while Black Beauty ate his food, 
but the moment it was done and the halter was in the 
coachman’s hand, his grief broke forth again, while Ted, 
and Rose, and Joe, at that sight, no longer kept from 
tears. The man tried to make short work of it, and 
lead the horse at once away, but the creature threw up 
his head, his eye, that had looked so mildly on the 
child, grew fierce, and snorting, he seemed to bid the 
stranger defiance in his attempt to secure and lead him 
away. Then Joe looked up in blank distress, and said, 
“ It’s of no use, he won’t go for you ; a stranger never 
led him ; give him to me ; it’s fit I should have to lead 
him away, for it’s all for me he has to go.” 


390 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


So Joe took the halter, the creature hung down his 
head and followed, and the children followed also, little 
Tim stamping with impotent distress. The heavy-laden 
wagon coming in at the stack-yard gate stood still, 
and the men looked round to watch ; and the laborers, 
winding up the hill with their rakes upon their shoul- 
ders, turned to see the faithful creature go, and Molly and 
the yard-boy stood in view, and Mrs. Smith within the 
house kept up a more than usual stir, and Mr. Smith, 
no one knew where he was. Rose soon stopped with 
little Tim ; but Ted ran on by the side of Joe, who led 
the horse to his new stable ; then the boys hung their 
arms round his neck and left him to his new abode ; and. 
long Black Beauty neighed in vain for the children’s 
hands to feed him. 

“ Never mind, my boy,” said Farmer Smith, as Joe 
turned away from his supper ; “ you won’t trifle with a 
situation that has cost us all so much.” 

“ What in the world is this ?” asked Mrs. Smith, as 
she packed her son Joe’s box for London. 

“O, never mind, mother; just tuck it in anywhere.” 

“ But what in the world is it for ?” asked Mrs. Smith. 

“ Well, mother, it’s only just the old bit of rope with 
which I led Black Beauty away ; he would not let the 
rector’s man halter him or lead him out of the stable.” 

“ And what can be the use of taking that ?” asked 
Mrs. Smith. 


FARMER SMITH’S CHILDREN. 391 

“ O, never mind, mother, only for fear I should ever 
forget that day.” 

“Well, I am sure,” said Mrs. Smith, “it’s an odd 
fancy, to hold feeling by a bit of old rope ; but so it 
must be if you will.” 

Perhaps Mrs. Smith was really more capable of un- 
derstanding Joe’s feeling than she showed signs of being; 
but so it passed off, and Black Beauty’s old bit of rope 
was tucked in one corner of his box. And Joe went to 
London, and the merchant was pleased with the lad, 
and the money was paid, and William took Joe to lodge 
with him ; and when he had seen him comfortably set- 
tled, William went down to spend a fortnight in his 
home, to the comfort of all, and not least of little Tim. 
And Black Beauty drew the minister’s carriage. 


392 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


^-lx-OTAER XX. 

THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 

“ Warm’d underneath the Comforter’s safe wing, 

They spread th’ endearing warmth around.” 

Putting on the breastplate of faith and love. — 1 Thess. v, 8. 

While these events had been passing in the village, 
little Jane had followed on her childhood’s path within 
the town ; and the energy of growing thought and the 
courage of deepening feeling strengthened within her 
heart. Her sympathy for the poor grew with her 
growth ; a sympathy inherited by birth from her 
parents, and constantly nourished by* the atmosphere of 
her home; a respectful sympathy, a loving feeling of 
relationship; a sense of some invisible tie existing be- 
tween her and the poor, which did not exist between 
her and the rich; even that most blessed bond, the 
power to aid and comfort. 

There was a road which led out of the town on the 
side nearest to Mr. Mansfield’s house ; the road led up a 
long hill, and then crossed a wide heath. This was a 
favorite walk with Jane and her little brothers, and here 


THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 393 


they used to run and play with the snow in the winter- 
time, to which we have now come ; while William and 
Joe were together in London, little Mercy and her uncle 
Jem tending old Willy, Herbert away in a foreign land, 
Rose busy in her home, and Black Beauty drawing the 
minister’s carriage. Thus on the fresh-blowing heath, 
Jane and her little brothers grew rosy with their play. 
There were scattered cottages and huts upon this open 
heath, and- Jane often stopped in her play and looked at 
them, or passed them by with slower step ; she felt that 
the poor were there ! 

But there was one hut that stood separated from any 
other, a mean abode it was, and with no look of comfort 
round it. There was a pile of turf to lengthen out the 
smoldering fire, but no -little stack of wood, no black 
and shining coal, no cheerful blaze within. No Herbert 
came and went that way; no faithful Jem lived near; 
but little Jane’s eye of thoughtful love, so early trained 
to watch where any want might rest, her eye of thought- 
ful love had marked the mean abode, and again and 
again she had looked, wondering who might live there. 
At last, one wintery day, just as Jane passed by, the door 
opened, and an aged woman came out with a ragged cloth 
in her hand, which she hung on a snowy bramble that 
grew beside the door. The aged woman wore an old 
print gown, with a small black shawl pinned over her 
shoulders, and an old black bonnet on her head; her 


894 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


head shook with the palsy of age, and it was evident at 
first sight that she was old and poor, very old and very 
poor. 

“ Look,” said Jane, “that poor old woman lives there.” 

“ Yes, I see,” said nurse. 

“ Do you think mamma knows that old woman ?” 
asked Jane. 

“ How can I tell ?” replied nurse ; “ you don’t suppose 
your mamma knows every old woman for miles round 
the town ?” 

Nurse was walking at a quick pace with the little 
boys, and she called to Jane, who was lingering with 
her eyes still on the open cottage-door, to come on ; so 
Jane hastened on. As they returned, the aged woman 
stood outside her door again, putting out a few more 
ragged things to dry on the bushes in the wintery wind. 
Jane watched her as she passed, but said no more to 
nurse. As soon as she was alone with her mother that 
day, she said, “ Mamma, what do you think ; I saw such 
a very old woman in such a very old cottage ; she looked 
so cold, and her head shook, and she was hanging out 
some ragged things to dry, and I saw no fire inside ! ' 
Do you know her, mamma ?” 

“Where did you see her?” asked Mrs. Mansfield. 

“ Out on the heath, mamma : such a very old cot- 
tage, alone by itself! I am sure she is very poor, an*i 
she must be very cold.” 


THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 395 


“ I don’t think I know anything of her,” replied Mrs. 
Mansfield ; “ but if you think she is so very old and 
poor, you shall take me to see her, and then we shall 
both know her.” 

“ 0, mamma, will you let me ? Shall we go this 
afternoon ?” 

“ No ; you could not walk so far, twice in one day.” 

“ O, yes, I could indeed, mamma ! I am not at all 
tired.” 

“ No ; we will wait till to-morrow, and then, if the 
day is very fine, I will promise, if possible, to go with 
you.” 

“ Shall you do anything to make her warm, mam- 
ma ?” 

“ Yes ; if you like, we will take her a coal-ticket, and 
then she will be able to have some coals.” 

“ O, mamma, I am so glad ! I wish I could do 
something for her as well.” 

“We will observe, when we go, what she seems most 
to want ; and then perhaps you can make it, and take it 
to her some day in your walk with nurse.” 

“ Do you mean I may take it in, all alone by myself, 
mamma ?” 

“ Yes, if she seems a kind old woman, who would ba 
pleased to have a little visitor.” 

“ Are not all poor people kind, then, mamma ?” 

“ No, dear Jane, not all : an evil heart within them 


396 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


makes some poor people unkind and wicked, as it does 
some rich people. And then the poor often suffer a 
great deal ; and when they have not the fear and love 
of God to comfort them, suffering often makes them 
speak, and feel, and act as they would not if they knew 
the love of God.” 

“Cannot they be taught to know it, then, mamma?” 

“ Yes, Jane ; w r e must try to help every one to know 
the love of God, through Jesus Christ. God’s love can 
change the hardest and most wicked heart, and make it 
gentle and patient, even in suffering. So when we find 
any one unkind to us, whether poor or rich, we must try 
and show them what the love of God can teach, and en- 
able us to bear and to do ; and, if we can, we must tell 
them of his love, that they may seek it also.” 

“ Then if the old woman is unkind, what will you do, 
mamma ?” 

“ I do not think she will be ; but if she should, we 
must speak the more gently and kindly to her, and per- 
haps she will soon find that we want to be a help and 
comfort to her, and then she will be glad to see us ; and 
our love may lead her, perhaps, to seek the love of God, 
and that will make her happy in her poor cottage here, 
and then it will take her to heaven.” 

Jane was satisfied, and asked no more. She had 
learned an added lesson of truth ; no suspicion had been 
taught her; her mother had only reminded her of the 


THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 397 


fact, that from sin’s evil root we must not be surprised to 
find its bitter fruit; and she had bound upon her child 
“the breastplate of faith and love,” to shield her from 
the painful effects of a surprise. The youngest soldier 
of the cross needs to be so prepared and guarded, when 
venturing on ground untried by others for his steps ; and 
care is needed, is greatly needed, lest the older mind 
should teach by infusing suspicion and doubt, instead of 
giving the simple knowledge of the universal fact of 
man’s evil heart, and carefully binding on the child’s 
young spirit that breastplate of faith and love which 
can alone guard it for its safe conflict with the world. 

The next day Jane set off with her mother for the 
cottage on the heath. It was true she walked with 
more silent questionings in her heart, as to what they 
might meet in the old woman’s cottage, but it was the 
questioning that belongs to earth’s uncertainty; and 
whatever might be found, she was prepared to meet it 
now, without being driven back by a surprise. The 
cottage door was shut. On Mrs. Mansfield’s knocking, 
the old woman opened it, and Mrs. Mansfield said, “ We 
have walked up from the town to call on you : may we 
come in ?” 

“ It’s no place to come into,” said the aged woman ; 
“ but you can if you like.” 

So Mrs. Mansfield went in, and sat down on a broken 
chair ; Jane found a seat on the bottom of the bedstead. 


398 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and the aged woman sat down again by her small table, 
where she was taking her twelve o’clock dinner, consist- 
ing of a little tea and a crust of bread. 

“ You must feel the cold on this open heath,” said 
Mrs. Mansfield. 

“ Yes, it’s enough to perish an old woman like me ; 
but I could never make up the high rent down in the 
town, so I am forced to bear it as I can.” 

“We thought that you might like a coal-ticket; 
they are giving some in the town. Do you know about 
them ?” 

“ 0 yes ! I know about them.” 

“Would you like to have one?” 

“ Well, I can have it, if you like ; but I don’t suppose 
I can ever get the coals out here : I am sure I can’t carry 
them.” 

“No, you could not carry them yourself; but I see 
some other cottages near : perhaps you have a neighbor 
who could.” 

“ No ; there’s no one who neighbors with me. I have 
no one to look to but myself; what I can do for mvself 
I do, and what I can’t, I have to go without.” 

“ Coul( i you not manage if you had a shilling with 
it ? Then you could pay the sixpence that is necessary 
with the ticket, and give something to a boy to carry 
them for you.” 

u Yes, I suppose I could do that.” 


THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 399 


“ Shall I write your name on the ticket then ? I have 
a pen and ink in my basket.” 

“ You can, if you please.” 

So Mrs. Mansfield wrote. Then, turning to the aged 
woman, she said, “ You feel as if you had no one to 
look to ; but there is a Friend who is able and willing to 
help and comfort you, if you ask it of him.” 

“ I suppose you mean there is a God above,” said the 
old woman : “ I know that.” 

“ I mean that the God above sent his beloved Son to 
die for you, that you might find pardon, and help, and 
hope in him, even in Jesus, the Son of God.” 

“ Well, I dare say it may be ; but those who have no 
learning, like me, cannot come at the understanding 
of it.” 

“ 0 yes, you can, by God’s help. It is to the poor, 
above all others, that the good news is sent. It is all 
written in the Bible for you; and if you only get 
its words into your heart, they are sure to lead you to 
heaven.” 

“ I can’t do that then, for I can’t read them ; and I 
am not fit to go to a place of worship.” 

“ O yes, you are quite fit for that ; there are many 
who have worshiped God in worse clothing than yours ; 
but, if you like, my little girl shall come and read to 
you sometimes, when she walks this way.” 

“ Well, I am for the most part busy.” 


400 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“Never mind; if you are busy she can run on with 
her brother; but if you are not busy, she can come and 
read the words of the Bible to you, those blessed words 
that are written for the poor.” 

“ I am sure you are very good,” said the old woman, 
softened at last. And Mrs. Mansfield and Jane took 
their leave. 

“ She was not really unkind, was she, mamma ?” 
asked Jane, anxious to clear as much as possible any 
censure from her old woman. 

“ No, dear, she was not at all unkind, only very poor 
and very miserable ; and when people are very miserable, 
they often don’t feel able to speak pleasantly.” 

“ No, mamma ; do you think she will like me to read 
to her?” 

“Yes, I feel sure she will, after a little time. I think 
she will soon begin to love you, Jane; and then, per- 
haps, you may teach her to know the love of God her 
Saviour ; and then she will soon feel very different, and 
look very different.” 

“ Shall I go to-morrow, mamma ?” 

“ No, I dare say she will go for her coals to-morrow , 
you had better wait a day or two, and, perhaps, by that 
time she will begin to look out for your promised visit.” 

“I saw something she wanted, mamma. Did you?” 

“Yes, poor old woman! I thought she wanted 
almost everything.” 


THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 401 

“But I mean her tea-pot, mamma; did you see it 
was tied together with a string ?” 

“ No, I did not see that.” 

“ It was indeed, mamma. How much would a tea- 
pot cost ?” 

“ You could get a small black tea-pot for tenpence.” 

“Ten weeks, then, mamma, it would take me before 
I could buy one.” 

“Yes, it would; but you need not wait for that, 
because I think I have a tea-pot at home I could 
spare. It is a pewter tea-pot, a good deal bent, but it 
has no holes in it.” 

“ May I take it then, mamma, when I go ?” 

“ Yes ; and, if you like, you shall make her a warm 
garment, and take her that as a present from me.” So 
Jane, with delight, gave her playtime to work, till in 
three days the warm garment was ready. Then, with 
the tea-pot packed in a basket, and a little tea and sugar 
from her father beside it, and with her mother’s warm 
present tied up in a parcel, the happy child set forth 
with her brothers and her nurse. 0 how she longed 
to reach the cottage! And when at last it came in 
sight, she said, “Nurse, may I run on now?” and then 
swiftly she crossed the wintery heath, and knocked at 
the old woman’s door. 

“ O, it’s you !” said the old woman ; “ I have looked 
out for you.” 


402 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Mamma has sent you this,” said Jane, unfolding her 
mother’s present. “ Will it not keep you warm ? I 
made it for you all myself, except the fixing.” 

“ Why I never had the like of this before,” said the 
old woman with evident surprise. 

“ And mamma said I might bring you this tea-pot,” 
said Jane ; “ and there is some tea and sugar from our 
shop.” 

“ I am sure you are very good to me,” said the old 
woman, with feeling in her tone. 

“ Are you busy to-day?” asked Jane. 

“No, I am not busy; I have nothing to be busy 
about.” 

“ Shall I stay a little while ?” 

“ Yes, dear, if you can content yourself.” 

“ 0 yes, I like to stay with you ; you must be so dull 
here all alone. Do you like me to read to you ? I 
have brought my own Bible.” 

“ As you please,” replied the old woman. 

“ I can read to you about heaven in the Revelation,” 
said Jane; and she read from the seventh chapter of 
Revelation, the ninth verse to dhe end of the chapter. 

“It’s very fine, I dare say,” said the old woman, 
“for those who can get hold of it; but I have no 
understanding.” 

“Cannot you understand it?” asked Jane, with disap- 
pointment. 


THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 403 

“No, I never had any learning.” 

Jane looked down on the sacred words, and pondered 
what to say. 

“I wish you could understand,” at last said Jane, 
looking up earnestly at the old woman’s face ; “ if you 
could it would make you happy. Shall I read them 
once over again ?” 

“ As you please,” replied the old woman ; “ but 
I have no understanding.” 

Jane read a few verses again, then stopped, saying, 
“ Do you know who the Lamb means?” 

“No,” answered the old woman. 

“ It means Jesus, God’s Son, because he died for us,” 
said Jane. Then Jane read on about the- white robes; 
and stopped again, and said, “ Everybody in heaven 
wears a white robe, because Jesus has washed them all 
white in his blood. I can teach you a prayer about that ; 
it is a very short prayer out of the Bible, ‘ Wash me, and 
I shall be whiter than snow.’ Do say it after me, and 
then you will know it.” 

The old woman tried; at last she seemed able to 
remember a little; and when Jane was gone, she 
still sat on her broken chair, saying over to herself, 
“Wash me whiter than snow! Wash me whiter than 
snow !” 

It was simple teaching, and simple learning ; but we 
must estimate the full meaning of the few words left in 
26 


404 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

the aged woman’s heart, before we can estimate the 
value of the lesson given and received. “ Wash me!” 
there lay the assertion of her need of cleansing, a need 
only to be truly learned from the entrance of that word 
that enlighteneth the eyes. “ Whiter than snow !” 
there lay the assurance that there was a power that 
could make clean; make without spot the heart and 
life that needed washing, unable to cleanse itself. 
When the word of God, that gives at once the knowl- 
edge of sin, and the only remedy, is thus fixed within 
the heart, the nail is fastened in a sure place ; though 
the Master of assemblies deign to work by the infant of 
days in fixing it there. 

Jane’s pence were now saved up by her eager, joyful 
hand of love, for her own old woman. First, two lilac 
print aprons were bought and made, with a white one 
for Sundays. Mrs. Mansfield added a large handker- 
chief, to pin outside the gown over her shoulders, which 
Jane hemmed; and when these were about to be taken, 
Mrs. Mansfield said, “Suppose, if I can find a piece 
of black silk, I make her a little black bonnet?” 
Of course the thought of this was delightful ; and Jane 
kept back her gifts till the bonnet was ready. The 
neatest old woman’s bonnet was made, the silk put 
plain on a small, close shape ; and then Mrs. Mansfield 
made a plain net cap, with a net border, while Jane 
watched her mother’s needle with eager interest. 


THE COTTAGE ON THE HEaTH. 405 

The bonnet and cap were put in a little blue 
bandbox; and then Mrs. Mansfield found a shawl 
of her own for the old woman ; and so, richly laden, 
and overflowing with gladness, Jane set out, with 
her nurse and her brother to help, and the little ones 
to share the interest, on the way to her old woman’s 
cottage. Tears started to the eyes of the poor, old 
woman; tears of love and grateful feeling: and Jane 
saw the old woman at church, in her white apron, and 
neck-handkerchief and shawl, and her little black bonnet, 
and white net cap. The hand of love had clothed 
her, the voice of love had warmed and cheered her; 
there were tones that make the heart’s music now on 
earth for her; and led by these, she went to hear of the 
love that these bore witness to, the love that passeth 
knowledge. 

Before the cold of winter had passed away, Jane dis- 
covered that her own old woman had stiff limbs from 
rheumatism ; she told this, as she told everything, to her 
mother; and on Mrs. Mansfield’s learning from Jane 
that the old woman’s floor was often damp, and she 
without any covering for it, Mrs. Mansfield found up a 
variety of pieces of carpet, some old and some new, and 
showed Jane how to join them. With an old pair of 
gloves on her hands, fine twine, and a short carpet- 
needle, Jane sat on a low stool on the nursery floor, 
and made her patch-work rug. It was kept a great se- 


406 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


cret ; the old woman was to know nothing about it till 
it was done, and never could work have afforded a child 
more pleasure. She was to take the many-colored rug, 
when finished, and lay it down herself; it would fill 
up all the space between the bed and the fire, just 
where the old woman sat, and light up with its variety 
of patterns and colors the old woman’s dreary dwelling; 
the little window had long been cleaned, by the old 
woman’s own thought, to let in more lights for Jane to 
read, and Jane had secret thoughts of asking her mother 
if she might not make a new curtain for it ; but the 
carpet-work fully engaged her spare time for the pres- 
ent; and sometimes her mother, and sometimes her 
nurse, gave her advice as to how best to arrange her 
various-shaped pieces. 

One da} r , while Jane was intent on her work in the 
middle of the nursery floor, the daughter of a neighbor 
and friend of her mother’s knocked at the nursery door, 
and on nurse saying, “ Come in,” she opened the door, 
saying, by way of excuse for her appearance there, “ I 
found your mamma was out, and I got the servant just 
to let me run up, because I have no time to stay, and I 
want you to come to drink tea with us on Friday. I am 
to have a party. Mamma has bought me a new best 
frock of green silk, and I shall wear it then. What is 
your best frock?” 

“ I have no best frock,” said Jane, “ only one old 




V 






















f 



Pa^e 407 




THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 407 


stuff and one new stuff, and I wear wliite on Sundays 
in summer and when I go out with mamma, if you 
mean that.” 

“ No, I wear white sometimes in summer ; but how 
very odd you should not have a best frock ! Shall you 
come in your stuff frock then ?” 

“ I don’t think mamma will let me come at all,” said 
Jane. “I never go out to tea without mamma, unless 
it is with nurse into the country in summer-time.” 

“ Well, but you will ask, will you not?” 

“ Yes, I will ask mamma,” said Jane. 

* 

* “ What are you doing here?” then said Jane’s young 
visitor, looking down on the patchwork carpet; “ sewing 
bits of carpet, I declare ! what terrible hard work ! I 
never have such work to do.” 

“ It is not hard,” said Jane ; “ I like it very much ; 
it’s for a poor old woman who has nothing to lay on her 
floor, and her floor is damp.” 

“0, well, I don’t know any old women ; but if I did, 
1 think I should get my mamma to buy her a bit of 
carpet.” 

“ Mamma says,” replied Jane, “ that it is much bet- 
ter to give what we have made ; and I know my old 
woman will like it a great deal the more for my having 
made it. And mamma says it will be much stronger 
and warmer than a new piece, because of all the joins I 
have made.” 


408 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ 0 yes, I dare say it will ; but if you come and see 
me on Friday, I will show you my work. I am work- 
ing a little boy and girl in worsted, sitting on a stool, 
and they have such rosy faces ! I think I shall give it 
to mamma when I have finished it ; but I don’t know, 
because mamma says she is tired of the sight of it ; but 
if I don’t give it to mamma, I shall find some one else 
to give it to.” 

When her young visitor was gone, Jane said to her 
nurse, “ Do you think mamma would like it if I were 
to work some children sitting on a stool for her ?” 

“ Nonsense !” said nurse ; “ your mamma sees enough 
of children sitting on stools, without your wasting your 
time in showing her. I have no patience with such 
folly; you had much better make carpets all your life 
for those who have none.” 

“ I never made anything for mamma,” said Jane. 

“ Well, you may be sure your mamma is best pleased 
when you are working for the poor ; but if you want to 
make something for her, I can tell you what would be 
a great deal better than children sitting on stools.” 

“ What, nurse ?” 

“ Why, net her a purse ; she uses one of those wove 
things, that look old before ever they look new ; you 
might make her one that would look and wear well, 
and there would be some sense in that.” 

“ But I cannot do netting, nurse.” 


THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 409 

“ O, I can soon teach you that ; if you save up your 
pence for three weeks, you can buy a skein and begin. 
I have got a needle and pin.” 

“But will mamma know?” 

“ There is no need she should : if you like to be up 
these light mornings, you may work an hour before 
breakfast ; by three weeks’ time it may be a great deal 
warmer than now ; but then you must save up all your 
money, because there will be the rings and the tassels as 
well as the silk.” 

The agreement was joyfully made. Now came the 
finishing of the patchwork carpet, and Jane, with her 
nurse’s help, carried it up to the old woman, and laid it 
down before her wondering eyes, and then looked round 
with delighted feeling at the change in the cottage, and 
the change in the dear old woman, since the day when 
first she entered it. 

The purse could not be begun till the first threepence 
was saved up. 

“You don’t know why I save up my money now, 
mamma!” said Jane to her mother. 

“No, indeed, I cannot tell; do you want a few of 
my pence to help yours a little, that I may know the 
sooner ?” 

“ 0, no, mamma, that would not do at all ; it must 
be all my own money but while the child an- 
swered so, she felt the confidence that would have 


410 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


helped her secret purpose without even asking to know 
it 

Jane could not quite forget her young visitor’s re- 
marks; so one day she said to her nurse, “Mamma 
never buys me a best frock.” 

“ No, nor does not need,” replied nurse ; “ it’s only 
those who don’t look always as they should, and who 
want to look sometimes as they should not, who think 
about best dresses. Your mamma always keeps you 
neat, and fit to be seen, according to your station, and 
so you have no more need to think about wanting a 
best frock than any lady in the land.” 

There was something so decided and satisfactory to 
Jane in her nurse’s reply, that she thought no more 
upon the subject, quite convinced that to be always neat 
was the only point of importance. But she could not so 
readily forget the worsted work, and, though she was in 
tent on her secret purse, she still thought it would be 
very pleasant to do some work with colored wools ; she 
did not go to her young visitor’s party, so she had not 
seen the work of which she had heard so much. 

“ Mamma,” said Jane, one day, “ should you think 
that children sitting on a stool would look pretty done 
in worsted work?” 

“ I do not know, unless I saw them,” replied her 
mother ; “ but I do not generally admire such pieces of 
work. They take a great deal of time and attention, 


THE COTTAGE ON THE HEATH. 411 


more, I think, than they are worth. Did you wish to 
try some worsted work ?” 

“ Yes, mamma, I should like very much ; only nurse 
said it was nonsense to do children sitting' on a stool, and 
I don’t know what else could be done.” 

“ A great many things can be done. I think the best 
would be, to work your father a pair of worsted slippers, 
to put on when he comes in from the shop.” 

“0 yes, I should like that a great deal the best! 
May I do that, mamma?” 

“ Yes ; you shall go to the shop with me, and choose 
them for yourself.” 

And so the child found full employment now, in her 
early work for her mother, and her later work for her 
father, all through the spring’s bright weeks ; and then 
the joy of presenting her gifts, and seeing the lasting 
pleasure with which they were used, the smile of re- 
membrance that fell on her glad eyes when the purse 
was drawn out sometimes, or the slippers put on. And 
thus, within and without her home, every pure and hal- 
lowed sympathy was strengthened in her young life by 
natural and easy exercise. 

And now we must say farewell to Jane in her child- 
hood. We leave her gathering around her the hearts ot 
the poor. And He who guides the sparrow’s fall, guided 
her steps, so that never breath of evil, or sight of sin, 
fell on her childhood’s ear or eye among the poor. 


412 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 

“ The world’s a room of sickness, where each heart 
Knows its own anguish and unrest ; 

The truest wisdom there, and noblest art, 

Is his, who skills of comfort best.” 

In the following spring an invitation came for Rose, 
from her mother’s only brother, a farmer on a large 
grass farm in Derbyshire. It was a long journey for 
Rose to take, and her father was very unwilling to lose 
his little comforter from his home. Rose, also, did not 
like the thought of another visit to unknown relations, 
but her mother was resolved. Mrs. Smith said that her 
brother would have good reason to be offended, as Rose 
had been allowed to visit her other uncle, if his invita- 
tion was now refused. So the engagement was made, 
and Rose was to meet her uncle in London, to which 
place he expected to travel up in about three weeks’ time ; 
and as, in those days, it was not thought worth while 
for children to take a long journey for a short period, it 
was settled that Rose was to spend three months beneath 
her Derbyshire uncle’s roof. 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


413 


When Molly, the maid at the farm, found that Rose 
was to leave for another long visit, her patient endur- 
ance gave way to despair, and after nine years’ faithful 
service, she told her mistress that she must leave her 
place, unable to bear the prospect of her mistress’s try- 
ing temper without Rose to soften it. Things were not 
improved in the house by Molly’s giving warning. Mrs. 
Smith really valued her, and was very sorry to lose her ; 
but the pride of heart which made Mrs. Smith’s temper 
so trying to all, would not now suffer her to express any 
regret; she only showed resentment at what she called 
Molly’s ingratitude ; and Rose left her home with a sor- 
rowful heart. 

When the time for Molly’s departure arrived, she 
came to take leave of her mistress in tears. Little Tim 
had run off crying, to hide himself in the stable, and 
Molly gathered courage and said, “I am sure, ma’am, I 
never would have left your place for another, if I 
might but have reckoned on a pleasant word sometimes ; 
but I don’t think, since Master Joe and the horse 
went away, you have given me so much as one smile, 
and I am sure that their going was none of my doing ; 
and I can’t stand it, ma’am, and I don’t see who is to 
stand it.” 

There still were moments when Mrs. Smith’s pride 
had almost, more than enough to do in keeping down 
and hiding up the buried feeling of her heart ; and now, 


414 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


when her faithful, her really valued servant, stood befora 
her and confessed that her mistress could have bound 
her to her service by a smile, when that servant was 
really departing, Mrs. Smith found the only disguise for 
her feeling would be silence ; ' she did not, therefore, 
speak a word ; she held out Molly’s wages without 
looking at her, and then turned another way, while poor 
Molly, quite overcome by what seemed to her the un- 
kindest act of all, left the farm for her mother’s distant 
village, with a feeling of unreturned affection and heart- 
breaking distress. 

There was one person, and only one,' with whom 
Mrs. Smith had to do, to whom she had never spoken a 
harsh word. It was not Rose, it was not little Tim, it 
was not her favorite William ; no, it was the orphan 
child, Mercy Jones. It was true, the orphan’s grand- 
mother, Widow Jones, had . always stood as high as 
possible in Mrs. Smith’s regard ; Jem also, Mercy’s 
uncle, Mrs. Smith considered worth all the other men 
and boys on the farm put together, because, she said, 
“ If you make him understand what is to be done, you 
may give up the worry yourself.” But it was not her 
grandmother’s and her uncle’s good qualities that pro- 
cured such favor for Mercy ; Mrs. Smith was a strict ex- 
aminer of each individual with whom she had to do, 
and nothing but personal integrity could ever win her 
regard. Mercy was a tall, delicate-looking, gentle 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


415 


child, with a thoughtful heart, a willing mind, and a 
ready skill, that far more than compensated for her 
lack of strength ; and now that, for the first time in 
nine years, the farm was left without a maid, Widow 
Jones and Mercy both came in to help. 

It might have been supposed that these two helpers 
would prove equal to Molly’s former service, and so 
they might have been but for Mrs. Smith’s apprehensions 
on Mercy’s behalf. “ Here, give that to me, girl,” she 
would continually say, taking the work from Mercy’s 
hands, and finishing it up with equal energy and sevenfold 
power ; then kindly adding, “ It’s not, as I say, because 
you have not the notion, but because you have not the 
strength!” While to her husband Mrs. Smith was 
constantly declaring, “ Slave as I may, I am sure that 
girl will be overdone ; she’s too willing, and the work is 
beyond her, and an orphan too as she is ; I wish 
enough I could meet with some one I should not always 
be afraid to put upon.” 

Many girls came and offered themselves, but Mrs. 
Smith declared that there was not so much as one among 
them who had any right to the name of a servant ; she 
could tell that without any need of a trial. All this time, 
while vexing over Mercy’s toil, overworking her own 
strength, and objecting to every girl who came before 
her, Mrs. Smith never named the absent Molly ; in all 
the vexatious trouble she dayly made for herself, she cast 


416 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


no fresh censure on Molly ; and could Molly have seen 
her mistress’s real feeling, the probability would have 
been her instant return to offer her services again ; but 
pride lay between Mrs. Smith’s heart and her lips, and 
kept her continually back from the confessions that 
would have led to peace in her family, instead of strife 
and debate 

All through the years of which we have been speak- 
ing, Patience had lived on in her place of service with 
the family of Mr. Mansfield’s foreman ; but her master 
and mistress had for some time felt that the increasing 
expenses of their growing family were putting a servant 
beyond their means ; and a still stronger reason for do- 
ing without one, lay in the good sense of these excellent 
parents, who both felt that the best way of teaching their 
children diligence and method in accomplishing work, 
would be to bring them up to get well through all that 
their own home required. 

But how to send Patience away was the painful part, 
and month after month, then week after week her dis- 
missal was delayed, till at last the foreman’s wife said, 
‘‘Well, I cannot help it, she has worked like a child for 
me, and you must tell her, for I can’t ; you hired her, 
she knows, and so it will come natural to her.” 

It was very seldom that the good woman’s resolution 
failed her, but now it did; and her husband’s mild 
firmness came in to the rescue of their home principles. 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


417 


He told Patience, quietly and decidedly, that lie felt the 
time had come when his girls must do all the work of 
their house ; that both he and his wife valued her faith- 
ful services, but still more the example she had set their 
children ; he said she had earned what was better than 
any wages, the lasting regard of those she had served ; 
and he told her to come to his house as a home always 
open to her, while she maintained the same character 
she had earned in his family. The color left the cheek 
of Patience, but she could not speak. Her master added 
kindly, that they should not think of parting with her 
till she had found a comfortable place, and that, there- 
fore, she need feel no anxiety on that subject, and then 
left her. When Patience returned to her mistress and 
the children, her tears broke forth ; her good mistress 
cried also, and the children cried, but her mistress, mak- 
ing an effort, said cheerfully, “ Come, child, it’s not for you 
to fret; you have done your duty here, and your reward 
will follow ; you are only going to make more friends, 
and not to lose those you leave behind, so cheer up and 
be as busy as you can ; that’s the best cure for low 
spirits of most kinds.” 

So Patience tried, but the spring of her work was 
o^one. She worked well, as before, but it was the 
work of habit and principle, not the energy of life ; 
and often through her heart a faintness passed as she 
felt the home was hers no longer ; she must wander 


418 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

cut again into the world her childhood found so rough, 
and thoughts of her early life and of her first place ot 
service came back with a sinking weight on her spirit. 

Having spoken to Patience, her master now named 
the subject to his employer, Mr. Mansfield, and Mr. 
Mansfield promised to name it to some of his best custom- 
ers ; among the first of these, on the next day, being 
market-day, was Farmer Smith. 

“It’s no use to ask you, Mr. Smith, whether you want 
a servant girl, for yours knows the value of her place, it 
seems, too well to leave it.” 

“ Ah, she’s gone at last,” replied Farmer Smith, 
gravely. “ Yes, hers was a nine years of honest service ; 
she earned her wages fairly enough, but she is gone at 
last.” 

“ Well, then, I can find you just such another. My 
foreman here, like a wise man, is giving up servant 
keeping, and he wants a place, he says, for one of the 
best girls who ever called herself a servant.” 

At this the foreman came forward and talked with 
Farmer Smith, and Mr. Mansfield waited on his other 
customers. 

Now Mrs. Smith had often said that she would 
rather, by far, teach a girl farm work and farm ways 
from the beginning, than to have one who thought her- 
self clever at everything. So Farmer Smith went home, 
thinking he had met with the very girl most likely to 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


419 


satisfy his wife ; but Mrs. Smith was not in a mood to 
be satisfied with anything or anybody, and only replied 
to Farmer Smith’s pleasant description : “ And what’s the 
use of a girl that never stirred from the town, and knows 
only town ways, out here in the country ?” 

“ Why, a good servant is a good servant,” replied 
Mr. Smith; “and as for our ways, why, she can learn 
the country ways, I suppose, as well as she learned the 
town ways, if she has a mind to them.” 

“ But it is not the least likely she would have a mind 
to them ; girls who have been used to the town never 
settle in country places like this; she had a thousand 
times better stay where she is,” said Mrs. Smith. 

Mr. Smith found it was hopeless to urge the point, so 
he dropped the subject. On the next market-day he 
made one more attempt, asking Mrs. Smith if she would 
not like to go in and just see the girl. But Mrs. 
Smith replied that she could judge about it quite as 
well without having to go seven miles to come to an 
opinion ; so Mr. Smith took his drive to the town alone. 
He called at Mr. Mansfield’s shop, and requested the 
foreman to wait one week longer for his answer, which 
he readily consented to do, as he thought the place must 
be a good one, where the last servant had remained 
nine years ; Farmer Smith’s character also stood very 
high, and Patience was quite willing to go. “ More- 
over,” the foreman added, “my opinion is, that the girl 
27 


420 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


will settle all the better a little distance from my wife 
and children, of whom she is wonderfully fond.” So 
Farmer Smith, very anxious to secure a good girl for 
his wife and home, waited for the forlorn hope 
of Mrs. Smith’s change of feeling by another market- 
day. 

The week passed by ; every girl who applied for the 
place was pronounced by Mrs. Smith to be as unfit as 
could be, and the last person she would think of engaging 
with ; while she still vexed at having no servant to do the 
work, and protested that Mercy would be ill with over- 
doing; but Mr. Smith heard all with perfect silence. 
The next market-day arrived, but Mr. Smith asked no 
questions; he prepared as usual for market; when just 
as, with hat and whip, he was leaving the house, Mrs. 
Smith followed him and said, “There is not the least use 
in the world in my going all that way after a girl that is 
not likely to come, or to stay if she did come ; but if she 
has a mind to come after the place herself, why that’s 
another thing.” 

“ When would you like her to come then,” inquired 
Mr. Smith, “ supposing she is willing ?” 

“ Why, the sooner the better ! I am sure I am in a 
fidget about that child Mercy every day of my life ; it’s a 
wonder that she is not overset already, and I also, with 
the work of such a place as this is.” 

Mr. Smith stepped quietly into his chaise and drove 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 421 

off. In the evening he returned with Patience seated 
beside him. 

“ What have you been after now exclaimed Mrs. 
Smith, in dismay, calling Farmer Smith aside privately ; 
“ that’s just the way with you, never giving one time to 
turn round ; you think a thing is no sooner said than it 
can be done. I never meant the girl to come for good 
till I had seen her !” 

“ Well, wife,” replied Farmer Smith, calmly, “ there’s 
no harm done ; the girl could not make her way out here 
alone ; if you don’t fancy her, Jem can drive her back 
in the light cart after tea, or you can keep her a week 
on trial ; both her mistress and the girl were willing 
either way.” 

Hearing this, Mrs. Smith was somewhat pacified, and 
she went out to receive Patience, who stood waiting at 
the door. There stood Patience, a stout, strongly-built 
young woman, with a fresh color and pleasant face, her 
dress neatness itself. When she saw her expected mis- 
tress, Patience made a low courtesy, such as she had al- 
ways been used to in her school days in the town ; and 
she stood silently before Mrs. Smith. Now Mrs. Smith 
was not naturally without kindness of heart ; it was pride 
and selfishness, which she had suffered to grow within 
her unrestrained, that blinded her to the feelings of 
others ; but when she saw a stranger girl before her, one 
of whom she had heard so good a character, her natural 


422 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

kindness rose unimpeded, slie received her with a wel- 
come, and made her take a comfortable tea, and said 
that, as she was come so far, and had brought her things 
with her, she had at all events better stay the week. 

Patience rose the next morning almost at break of 
day ; she opened her little window, and wondered at the 
fragrance of the air; she looked over the land, and while 
she sighed for the children far away, and the cheerful 
call of her mistress’s kind, quick tone, that could not 
reach her now, while she sighed for these, she felt that 
she could love those pleasant fields better far than the 
town, and that if she could but bring her master’s fami- 
ly to her, she should never wish for the town again ; but 
then the feeling of a stranger in a strange place came 
over her, and she could only turn from the window to 
commit herself in prayer to Him who is the stranger’s 
God. As soon as Patience heard her mistress moving 
she left her room, and, greatly to the surprise of Mrs. 
Smith, her new maid stood before her at five o’clock in 
the morning, in her neat gown of dark blue with short 
sleeves, and a stout apron, as fit for farm-house work as 
any other. 

There was about Patience a quietness of look and 
manner that made a striking contrast with her active 
figure and step, quick without haste, and quiet without 
dulness ; it might be that the exterior of her early sorrow 
had never been quite effaced, but left its gentlest shade 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


428 


upon her life’s after vigor and brightness. There was 
also a propriety of manner about Patience that could 
not fail to produce a pleasing impression, and a readi- 
ness of attention and willingness of movement that 
made it no effort to tell her to do anything, while her 
thoughtful care more frequently prevented the need of 
her being told. 

Mrs. Smith’s quick eye soon read these qualifications, 
and the consequence was, she instantly made up her 
mind that Patience would consider herself too good for 
the place, and would be certain not to stay ; but still, as 
she felt her deserving of attention, she put her in the 
way of farm-house work, giving her dayly instruction in 
milking and other peculiarities of the dairy. Patience 
was very grave, for her heart was still in her last place ; 
she was always finding herself back in thought with 
those she had left ; and Mrs. Smith failed not to set this 
down to discontent. 

“ But surely,” said Mr. Smith, “ the girl does every- 
thing in as pleasant a way as can be, and what would 
you have more ?” 

“ O, that’s only by way of keeping up her character,” 
replied Mrs. Smith ; “ you will see she will never stay a 
day beyond her week ; I am sure she will never come 
down to the place, her manners are above it.” 

Mrs. Smith did not know she had one beneath her 
roof who had been humbled in sorrow’s bitter school; 


424 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


one who sought not pride, but love; whose heart no 
money could win to her place, but which affection’s 
power or feeling’s claim could bind to any service ; and 
so she made up her mind that Patience would consider 
herself above the place and go ; and she said, it was very 
hard to have nothing before her but teaching the same 
things over and over again to perhaps a dozen girls, one 
after another, for she was sure the place would never 
suit this girl, and it was not likely she would find a girl 
in a hurry that would suit her ! Mr. Smith heard in 
silence. 

The end of the week came ; Patience said nothing, so 
Mrs. Smith felt it incumbent upon her to speak. 

“Well, girl,” said Mrs. Smith, “you have done full 
as well as any one might expect ; but of course the place 
is not one to suit you, any one can see that, so I can 
only wish you a better. We will make out a way to get 
you back to your friends.” . 

Patience looked up in surprise, and the color deepened 
in her cheeks: “I have no wish to leave the place, 
ma’am,” she replied ; “ if I could suit you, I am not like- 
ly to find a better.” 

Mrs. Smith was now more surprised than Patience had 
been, and not altogether pleased at finding herself mis- 
taken ; for Mrs. Smith always felt a secret satisfaction in 
seeing her predictions fulfilled, even though she considered 
the events to be evil. Happily, Patience had said that 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


425 


she did not think herself likely to find a better place, 
and this single expression of feeling from a heart in 
which pride had no indulgence, went far to relieve the 
involuntary annoyance Mrs. Smith felt at finding her 
own impression a wrong one. So Patience stayed. 

But from the day on which Mrs. Smith looked upon 
Patience as really her servant, she began her usual tone 
of harsh authority. Patience was neither slow to learn 
nor frequent in forgetting; but the dread of her mis- 
tress’s voice made her painfully anxious about every 
possible thing that could be expected of her. The 
heavy, anxious look of her childhood began again to 
steal over and shadow the pleasant expression of her 
face. She would stand sometimes and watch little Tim 
in the farm-yard by the side of his father, or talking with 
Jem, and w'ould think that child seemed the only one 
that she could love; but he was seldom within, always 
running away as soon as possible from his mother’s 
harsh voice. He was a favorite with a]l the laborers, 
and they would do anything to please him ; but Jem 
was his chief friend. From the time that William had 
left, he had taken to Jem, as if he considered him to be 
most like his lost brother; and no one could so easily 
•wake the clear tones of his merry laugh as honest Jem. 
lie would ride on his shoulder, wander down to find 
him with the sheep, share his homely food, and, now 
that Rose was away, he would get to him whenever he 


426 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


could. Poor Patience used to watch the child, and 
wish that he would turn to her as he did to Jem ; but 
Molly was still fresh in the memory of little Tim, and he 
scarcely looked at Patience. So Patience felt more and 
more desolate, while closer round her heart pressed the 
warm memories of the home she had left. 

While things were in this state Jem, who had been 
on an errand to the town, came into the back kitchen 
to have some provision on his return. It was evening, 
and Patience was sitting there alone. Jem had often 
observed her disconsolate look, and it hurt his kind and 
honest heart to see so little comfort for her ; and now, as 
he sat on the back-kitchen bench, cutting his bread and 
meat with his great pocket-knife, he ventured a remark : 
“ Living out here in the country, I take it, doesn’t suit 
you like down there in the town ?” 

“ No, it’s very different,” replied Patience ; and there 
was silence again. 

“You seem hard done up in your thoughts,” again 
observed Jem ; “ I hope you haven’t happened with any 
misfortune.” 

“ No, not exactly that,” Patience slowly replied ; and 
then, encouraged by Jem’s friendly tone, and not less 
by the expression of his honest face, which she had seen 
most days since she had been at the farm, she went on 
to say, I was thinking how little wages I could do with. 
I think I could do with less than my last mistress would 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


427 


have liked to offer me ; only then I remembered there’s 
the food, and one must eat if one’s to live.” 

Jem had no skill in arithmetic, and could not render 
much aid in such a calculation ; but he had a far quicker 
estimate, perhaps, than many an arithmetician, of the 
heart’s joys and sorrows ; and he came in with his 
friendly aid at the root of the matter. “ Are you after 
a change, then ?” he asked. 

“ Well,” replied Patience, “ I was thinking if I could 
get back anyhow where I came from, I would rather live 
there on dry bread, among those that were one with me, 
than here, where no one has a care for me, on any 
wages.” 

“But,” answered Jem, “they said you could not 
hold the place, because the family gave up servant- 
keeping.” 

“So they did,” said Patience, “and I’m afraid they 
would not take me back if I should go without wages ; 
only I can’t help thinking about it.” 

“Well now,” said Jem, “take my advice; you will 
never do yourself or others a straw’s worth of good, 
thinking on what cannot be ; and don’t be down-heart- 
ed here. Mistress is hasty, I know ; but I have served 
her from a child, and if once you get right with her, 
you will never have a trouble from her again. She is 
always for thinking every one will go wrong, till she finds 
they go no way but right ; once let her get persuaded 


428 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


of that, and she would not believe the whole world if 
they stood out against you. I know it’s hard in the 
coming, and she has been put out of late more than 
common, one way or another ; and the last maid would 
not put up with it, nor wait for things to work round 
again, so she left; but only you keep right on as you 
have begun, and you will be sure to find things mend 
in good time.” 

This conversation was the first encouragement poor 
Patience had had ; it eased her spirit also to have been 
able to speak on the subject, and for a time she went 
more cheerfully on. But the same harsh tone, the same 
cold, short manner, met her every effort; and after a 
while she lost heart again, and began to think she must 
give up, and try to find some other place. But where 
could she turn ? She had no opportunity, so far from 
the town, of making inquiry ; and she was ashamed to 
write to her mistress, and say she could not stay in the 
place she had been so glad to secure for her. She was 
sitting at her needle, on the low chair in the back kitchen ; 
and as she thought on these things the tears fell on her 
work. Little Tim had come, unperceived by her, to 
the back door ; and as he stood there looking in he saw 
Patience crying. The sight touched his heart, for little 
Tim was no stranger to tears, especially since Rose had 
been away ; so he went up to Patience, and said in his 
kindest little voice, “What for you kie?” 



Paga 428 






















* 


.. • 



































DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


429 


“ Because no one loves me here,” said Patience. 

“ I will love you,” said little Tim, putting his hand 
upon her cheek; and then, when Patience still cried, 
slipping his^rm round her neck, he said again, “I will 
love you very much ; don’t kie any more.” 

Patience clasped her arms round the child, and laid 
her head one moment on his little shoulder, as he stood 
beside her, and sobbed ; then looking up, she made an 
effort and wiped away her tears, and said, “ If you will 
love me, then I will not cry.” From that time little 
Tim seemed to feel that it depended upon him to keep 
Patience from crying. v He would often come and look 
at her from the back kitchen door, and when she was 
alone would stay beside her and talk to her ; and the 
heart of poor Patience grew content in her place, be- 
cause of the love and care of that one little ministering 
child. 

Rose had now been more than two months away, and 
they had proved happy months for her. Her uncle met 
her in London, a grave and silent person, of whom Rose 
felt afraid ; but her aunt’s kind face, and her cousins’ 
warm greeting, soon made her at home among them. 
She found every one of them full of occupation ; but 
each one seemed ready for her, and always able to find 
her a help and comfort. She helped her cousins tend 
their poultry, and make the summer preserves, learning 


430 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


many things unknown in her home. She helped them 
in their garden, where she learned from them to bud 
roses, prune trees, and, as the summer advanced, to 
distil rose leaves and herbs. She helped them in their 
work ; she learned to cut out, and make by herself, gar- 
ments for the poor; and often, while she worked with 
them, one read aloud, and Rose learned more of general 
knowledge in that visit than in all her young life before. 
Here she heard histories of missions, all new to her; 
and read of other countries also new and strange to her. 
She sat by her cousins while they taught the village 
children in the school, till at last they made her take a 
little class of her own ; this gave new interest and delight 
to Rose, and she thought it would be as hard to leave 
the little children of her class as it would be to leave any- 
thing. She wondered how she could have lived so long 
without knowing and loving relations so dear to her 
now ; but the distance had been great between them. 

Still Rose often thought of her home, and longed to 
see it again, though she did not like to think of leaving 
her aunt and cousins so far away. But when the har- 
vest time came, and Rose was expecting to return, a let- 
ter arrived to say that little Tim was ill with a danger- 
ous fever, and the letter asked that Rose might still 
remain at her uncle’s house, for fear of her taking the 
fever if she returned. This was unexpected sorrow for 
Rose ; little Tim, whom she loved so much, dangerously 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 481 

ill, and she could not nurse, or comfort, or see him ! 
Poor Rose was overwhelmed with grief, but she had 
those around her now who knew how to comfort ; they 
loved her more tenderly in her sorrow than they had 
done before, and they reminded her to whom to look ; 
even to the Saviour, who can comfort any heart that 
turns to him. 

Little Tim lay in his cot at home, and the doctor said 
his life was in danger. Now a real trial was come to 
Mrs. Smith at last ; she had long been making troubles 
for herself and others, but trouble was come now, and 
she felt it was ; and all that before she had made so 
much of was forgotten. Day and night she watched by 
the cot of little Tim. He did not like to lie in her arms 
when restless; he seemed uneasy there, and cried for 
Rose when his mother took him ; so, weeping, she would 
lay him back upon his pillow, and sit long hours and 
watch beside him. As she sat there a sense of the past 
came over her ; a sense of years of harshness and ill- 
temper ; of peace destroyed by her, and sorrow made for 
others ; she thought, too, of how the child had always 
seemed glad to slip away from her, as if uneasy in her 
presence ; and she looked down on his burning cheek, 
and felt as if it would kill her to see him die. Patience, 
too, would watch beside the cot, while Widow Jones did 
her work below ; and it seemed to ease the- heavy grief 
of Mrs. Smith to have her there. The men were con* 


432 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


stantly inquiring for the child, and Jem was always 
waiting about the house when possible, helping his 
mother to do the work, and asking of all who came 
from the room how the child seemed now. 

Mrs. Smith was leaning over the cot, and Patience 
kneeling beside it, when little Tim called “ Rose ! Rose ! 
•do come to Tim, come now !” 

“ What do you want, my darling ?” said Mrs. Smith. 
“ I will do it for you.” 

“ I want to puay,” (pray,) said little Tim ; “ and 
Rose can teach me ; I forget it now.” Mrs. Smith was 
silent. 

“ Mother, can you puay ?” asked little Tim. Mrs. 
Smith hid her face and wept; she felt she could not 
pray ; she had never taught her child, and she could not 
teach him now ; she could think of nothing. 

“ Can you puay, Patens ?” asked little Tim, in his 
anxiety. 

“Yes, dear ; I do pray for you.” 

“ 0, then, you can teach it to me ; I forget it all 
now,” said little Tim, and he joined his hands together 
in act of prayer. 

Patience repeated the prayer she had taught to little 
Ruth ; and Tim, quite satisfied, repeated it after her. 

“ Can you say my texes too ?” asked little Tim. 

Patience made a guess, and said, “ Suffer the little 
children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for of 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


433 


such is the kingdom of heaven.” It proved quite right, 
and little Tim added, “ I can say my other, ‘ Speak, 
Lord, for thy servant heareth.’ ” 

“ Now I can say my hymn,” said little Tim, “ that 
Rose did teach me ;” and looking up, with folded hands, 
he repeated in his broken utterance : 

“ Lord, look upon a little child, 

By nature sinful, rude, and wild ; 

O put thy gracious hands on me, 

And make me all I ought to he.” 

And then, quite satisfied, he said, “ Mother, don’t kie 
any more ; Patens can teach it me all and turning his 
cheek on his pillow, he fell peacefully asleep. 

Day and night Mrs. Smith repeated to herself, and 
tried to keep in her memory continually, the prayer that 
Patience had said for little Tim, in the hope that he 
would ask her again to teach him ; but he never ap- 
pealed to his mother any more : when he woke from 
sleep, if he had his senses, his first look was for Pa- 
tience, and with folded hands he waited for her to teach 
him “ how to pray !” 

“Does it hurt you very much, dear?” asked Pa- 
tience, as she helped Mrs. Smith dress a blister on the 
child’s head. 

“ No, nothing hurts me now,” said little Tim. And 
he fell asleep, and woke no more on earth. 


434 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


It was grief for all ; but the mother’s heart was broken 
up ; she took to her bed ; the fever that had taken little 
Tim from earth came upon her, and her mind wandered 
in sorrowful delirium. Patience was her devoted nurse; 
while Widow Jones sometimes gave Patience a little rest 
from the sick-room, or helped her in it ; and at other 
times did what she could of the work below, with Jem 
to aid. 

“ I see it now,” said Mrs. Smith, when for a short 
time her senses returned; “I see it all noW; it is right I 
should be left to die ! I turned from our young minis- 
ter who would have taught me how to live ; and now 
death is come, and I see plain enough that I am not 
ready to meet it.” 

“ Don’t you think the minister would come, if he was 
asked ?” said Patience to Widow Jones. 

“ What’s the use of it?” asked Widow Jones; “ she is 
scarcely a moment reasonable, and she has been so set 
against him, it might be too much for her now.” 

Widow Jones had seen their aged minister sent for 
many times to the dying ; but he had never unlocked 
the exhaustless treasury of the love of God in Jesus 
Christ for his own heart ; therefore he knew not how to 
dispense its balm of life, its soothing peace, to otheis. 
Widow Jones had never seen the servant of the most 
High God, the faithful minister of the truth as it is in 
Jesus, draw near in his Master’s name to the dying bed 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


436 


where hope was not ; this she had never seen, and so, 
knowing only what she had seen, she only replied, 
“ What’s the use ?” 

But Patience was not to be so easily satisfied. She 
waited a while, and then she went to her master. “ My 
poor mistress keeps lamenting so,” she said, “ to think 
how she turned from the minister! Don’t you think 
he would come to see her if you asked him, sir?” 

Farmer Smith stood silent. “ It’s a hard case,” he 
replied ; “lam sure I don’t know; I have been ashamed 
to meet him for ever so long now, and its more than a 
year since he has been into the house; your poor mis- 
tress was so set against him, and now such a fever as it 
is, and her senses gone, I don’t know that I dare to 
a*k it.” 

“ May I go, sir, and just tell him the state my poor 
mistress is in, and hear if he would please to come ?” 

“But,” said Farmer Smith, “it might overset her, so 
bad as she is ; and then if she were worse for it, I 
should have to answer for it; I dare not engage with it.” 

So Patience returned to the sick chamber. The sun 
was setting in the autumnal evening; she sat down by 
the window and looked into the glowing sky, and 
thought of little Tim. The thought was sad, yet full of 
peace. Lost in the feeling, she watched the sun’s 
decline behind the purple clouds ; then, looking down 
below again, she saw a distant figure crossing the 
28 


436 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


pasture in the valley ; it was the curate. Could he 
indeed be coming to the farm, or would he take the 
road that led to the cottages by the wood ? Patience 
watched, breathless between hope and fear ! He crossed 
the farm-stile, he turned to the bridge over the brook, 
and then began to ascend the green slope ; he was com- 
ing indeed ! Patience ran down. Farmer Smith was 
still within; he hastened out to meet his visitor, and 
Patience returned to see that all was in readiness above. 

“ I am grieved to hear of your heavy trials,” said the 
curate, as he entered the house with Farmer Smith. “ I 
was absent at the death of your child, and only now 
neard, on my reiurn, of the illness of your wife. I 
ihought she might be willing to see me ; but if not, I 
nope I may be permitted to speak a word of comfort to 
you.” 

“I am sure, sir, it is more than I could have expect- 
ed,” said Farmer Smith, hardly able to speak from 
overburdened feeling. 

“It is a dark and cloudy day for you,” said the 
curate. “ Indeed, a storm has burst upon you ; but you 
remember how after the storm the bow is set in the 
cloud for all who will look above to the hand that 
smites them; the storm has come, and now we must 
look up, and wait and watch, in prayer and faith, for the 
rainbow of promise and comfort. Will your wife be 
able and willing to see me ?” 


DEATH OF LITTLE TLM. 437 


Mr. Smith went to the sick room, and returned, say- 
ing, “ She is not sensible, sir, and I am afraid it is but 
putting you into danger.” 

“ O, I am not afraid of that,” replied the curate, “ if 
you are willing I should go ; we may pray for her, and 
more may be known by her than you think.” 

“ Well, then, sir, if you please,” said Farmer Smith. 
And the feet of the publisher of peace, the bringer of good 
tidings, entered the chamber of sickness and sorrow. 
He stood a moment by the bed, looking on the poor, un- 
conscious sufferer ; then said, “ Let us pray and kneeled 
beside the bed, while Farmer Smith and Patience knelt also. 

After prayer, sitting down beside the bed, the minis- 
ter repeated softly and slowly, “ Come unto me, all ye 
that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you 
rest.” “ Come now, and let us reason together, saith the 
Lord ; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as 
white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they 
shall be as wool.” “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth 
from all sin.” “ Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the 
ends of the earth ; for I am God, and there is none else.” 
“ Ask, and it shall be given you ; seek, and ye shall 
find ; knock, and it shall be opened unto you : for every 
one that asketh, receiveth ; and he that seeketh, findetli ; 
and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened.” The 
words, the tone of peace, seemed to soothe the sufferer ; 
she lay still and composed. Standing up, the minister 


438 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


said fervently : “ The Lord bless thee, and keep thee ; 
the Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be 
gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up the light of his 
countenance upon thee, and give thee peace l” 

The curate talked long with Farmer Smith below ; and 
Farmer Smith found, to his surprise, that there was no 
resentment at the conduct poor Mrs. Smith had shown 
toward him. He only spoke the words and breathed 
the spirit of sympathy, and counsel, and comfort. O 
what a weight was lifted that evening from the heart of 
Farmer Smith ! The opposition expressed and shown in 
his home to the curate, had kept Farmer Smith back 
from venturing to speak to him ; but now he had been 
seated with him in his own parlor without fear, and 
there had been able to utter the long pent up and hid- 
den feelings of his heart. O how the father thought of 
his little Rose, as he returned with thankfulness and 
peace to his kitchen. 

“Patience, child, is it you?” said Mrs. Smith that 
evening, when the light of day had faded, and the can- 
dle was lit. “ Patience, child, is it you ? I hardly seem to 
know where I am, and yet I think I am better. I have 
had such a heavenly dream ; I thought I was carried, 
all so bad as I am, in my bed to the church, and there 
I saw the new minister again. O how it seemed to 
give me hope, for I thought I had turned away from 
him, and now I should never be suffered to see him any 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


439 


more. I thought he stood up ; hut he seemed to speak 
only to me, and to look down at none but me; and he 
preached about ‘ rest,’ and it seemed as if he came with 
the message for me, straight from the God above ; and 
then I thought I looked round for little Tim to hear the 
sweet words too, but he was not there, and then I re- 
membered he was gone ; but still it did not seem to 
strike me down as the thought of him did before, for I 
seemed to know he was gone to that ‘rest’ that the 
minister was preaching about. 0 how it did ease me 
to hear our new minister again ! Patience, child, do 
you think I shall ever be able to get to the church any 
more, before I am carried to my grave ?” 

“ O yes, dear mistress, I do think you will live, by 
God’s mercy. And that was not all a dream you had ; it 
was part true, for the minister has been here to see you.” 

“ What ! our rector ?” 

“No, the curate himself; and 0, I feel sure, since he 
came and prayed for your life, and your pardon, and 
peace, that God will give it.” 

“ What ! our curate been here to see me ?” 

“ Yes, and he stood up here by the bed, and he said 
these words : ‘ Come unto me, all ye that labor and are 
heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ ” 

“Why, those are the very words I thought I heard 
him preach upon. Who could have thought it! Do 
you think he will come again ?” 


440 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Yes, I am sure he will,” replied Patience, “ and he 
will find you better when he does.” 

The next day the curate called again. Mrs. Smith 
had been saved all anxiety of expectation, not thinking 
he would come again so soon. She was much overcome 
at seeing him, saying to him, “ 0, sir, I thought I should 
never have seen you again !” 

“ My Master has sent me to comfort all who mourn,” 
said the minister, “ and I hope, by his grace, to be able to 
comfort you.” 

“ 0, sir, I don’t know, but I fear not ; I fear my com- 
fort is dead, and I dying myself!” 

“ The Lord my God,” said the minister, “ is one who 
quickeneth the dead. He can not only restore you, but 
comfort you also.” 

“ Ah, sir, I fear you don’t know how bad I have been. 
I was set against your preaching from the first, because 
you said there was but one way for all ; and you invited 
the worst of sinners to come and try that way, and it 
hurt my pride. I thought they were not fit to be put 
so along with me ; but now I have seen that I am not fit 
to be put with them ; for I am the worst of all !” 

“I have, then, a message for you,” said the minister; 
“you have often heard it before, but now that God is 
chastening and teaching you, you will be able to under- 
stand its meaning, and, I trust, to receive its comfort. 
‘If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, 


DEATH OF LITTLE TIM. 


441 


and the truth is not in us.’ ‘If we confess our sins, God 
is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse 
us from all unrighteousness.’ You see, then, there is 
forgiveness for you ; pardon and peace with God through 
Jesus Christ our Lord, if, confessing your sins unto God, 
you look to the Saviour, whom God has set forth to be 
a propitiation for sin.” 

Mrs. Smith listened to the words, and that truth 
which before had been so bitter was now sweet to her 
hungry soul. The visits of the minister were her great- 
est comfort ; till, at last, from that sick-bed the tones of 
hope, and peace, and praise were heard ; and the always 
pleasant, but now softened smile of Mrs. Smith would fall 
on those who watched beside her; and on Patience it 
fell with something of a mother’s feeling. 

The evening hearth shone bright when Mrs. Smith 
first came down to tea. Samson and Ted had done 
their best to make all things cheerful and full of comfort 
Widow Jones had put away into the parlor the chair of 
little Tim, but the mother’s eye fell on its vacant place. 
It was a long, sad lesson that mother’s heart had still to' 
learn ; but, sweetened by heavenly mercy, and soothed 
by heavenly peace, the longest lesson will only the more 
establish the heart, and root it the deeper in faith, hope, 
and love. 

The autumn passed away, but fear of infection still 
made the anxious mother keep Rose from home. At 


442 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


last all danger was considered over, and the day was 
fixed. Rose w f as to return, and her two brothers also, 
William and Joe, were to join her in London, and return 
with her. O, what a day of expectation that was ! Jem 
drove the horse in the chaise to the next village inn, 
where the coach always stopped ; then leaving it there, 
he walked back, and the two brothers, with Rose in the 
chaise between them, drove home together. Far over 
the now empty fields gleamed the light, from the farm 
window, of the blazing logs heaped up by Ted upon the 
fire; the mother, in her gown of black, sat in her chair 
beside it ; the tea w r as. prepared, and the pile of buttered 
toast, which Samson made in Rose’s absence. Patience 
had had an extra baking, with Widow Jones to help, and 
all her skill could do to welcome was added to the pre- 
pared reception. Patience had never seen Rose as yet, 
and even her heart trembled at thought of the one for 
whom the dying child had called, returning to the home 
where he was not. But in they came, Rose first. 
“ Mother ! 0, mother !” said the child, and the mother 
held her long pressed in that close embrace, as if she 
feared that she too might pass away from her sight like 
little Tim. Then in came William and Joe, with their 
tender and gentle greeting ; and with softened feeling on 
every face, and deeper love in every heart, the circle, 
from which one had been taken, drew round to their 
evening repast. 


OLD WILLY'S DEPARTURE. 443 


CHAPTER XXH. 

OLD WILLY’S DEPARTURE. 

“ Enthroned upon a hill of light, 

A heavenly minstrel sings ; 

And sounds unutterably bright 
Spring from the golden strings ; 

Who would have thought so fair a form 

Once bent beneath an earthly storm?” 

The winter passed peacefully away at the farm. 
There was a hush about the place, a shadow evidently 
hung above it ; the former active bustle of the house went 
on more quietly ; but it^was a stillness that told of greater 
depth, a shadow beneath which the best feelings of the 
hearts there strengthened and grew. The look of 
anxiety which used so often to cross the young and 
blooming face of Rose, as she feared, in time past, her 
mother’s hasty feeling at every fresh proposal or event, 
changed now to an expression of peace; yet with a 
quietness about it that told the sense of something gone, 
which steadied the light spirits of her happy youth ; 
steadied, but did not sadden, for she shared the happiness 


444 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


of little Tim ; and she often sung aloud the first verse of 
one of Mercy’s hymns : 

“ There is beyond the sky 
A heaven of joy and love ; 

And holy children, when they die, 

Go to that world above.” 

And though her mother never noticed it in words, yet 
did she often listen to the low tones as Rose sang on to 
herself ; listened in fear lest the sweet words should cease ; 
but happily Rose acquired the habit, till she would begin 
and keep on almost unconsciously to herself. Sunday was 
now a day of rest indeed ; a day made holy, and a delight, 
by the glad sounds of the good tidings of great joy, 
preached every Sabbath in the village church. Patience 
had again found a home ; and the heart of her mistress 
cherished for her a deeper feeling than any that Patience 
had known in service before. With Rose it was always 
pleasant to work or to speak ; and when Patience 
discovered the mutual friendship existing between 
Rose and a variety of the living creatures upon the 
farm, Patience took pattern, and trained her cows 
to an intelligence that seemed to give promise of 
rivaling, in time, the very horses themselves. • * 

In the following summer, to the delight of Rose, 
her Derbyshire uncle and aunt, and two of her cousins, 
came down, at Mrs. Smith’s earnest request, to make a 


OLD WILLY'S DEPARTURE. 445 

visit at the farm. Mrs. Smith’s brother soon returned 
to his home, on account of his business ; but he left his 
wife and daughters, who made a stay of six weeks, to 
the comfort and profit of Mrs. Smith, the satisfaction 
and pleasure of Farmer Smith, and the ceaseless enjoy- 
ment of Rose. This intercourse tended to raise and 
4k 

enlarge Mrs. Smith’s already softened and rightly- 
directed feeling. And six weeks of so much peaceful 
enjoyment had never been known before within the 
farm. 

William and Joe obtained an earlier holiday this 
year ; and, to their father’s comfort and the pleasure of 
all, they came down for the last fornight of the harvest 
time. How merrily did Rose prepare the harvest cakes, 
the last baking before their return, obtaining from her 
mother’s pleased and willing hand a larger supply of 
plums ; because Will and Joe would be among those to 
he fed with the harvest cakes. And though it was four 
years since William had held a sickle, the reapers de- 
clared that Master William might stand king of them, 
for all he had been up in London so long. But it was 
only a fortnight ; and the time drew to its close. 
The father had felt again the comfort of his eldest 
son at his side in the anxiety and joy of harvest, 
and his spirits sank at the approaching separation. 

“ Do you see any prospect of returning for good ?” 
asked the father, a few evenings before the last, as 


446 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


they sat together after supper, the younger boys 
having retired to rest. 

“Well, father,” said William, “I should wish to 
do what I can for my brothers. Joe stands on his own 
feet now. As for Ted, I think I may leave him to Joe; 
if you and mother consent to his going to sea, on which 
he seems bent, Joe is much more m the way than I am 
of hearing of an opening in that line. But then there’s 
Samson ; I don’t know what you would wish about 
him. I am afraid he has not spirit enough for a 
farmer.” 

“NA,” said the father; “but I would sooner risk it, 
than have you stay away for him, till no one knows 
when.” 

“ Well, I need not do that, father ; for if you thought 
he would do better in business, my uncle made me an 
offer, before I came down, to take him on trial ; and he 
might, I think, with a steady head, make a good man 
of business. If you liked him to come up to me this 
Christmas, I would see the boy fairly into his work; 
and then, in another year, I think I might hope to be a 
farmer again.” 

It was agreed to give Samson leave to decide for 
himself the next day. William said he would never 
consent to bind down his brother to what he had felt so 
much, unless he was inclined for it himself; and Mrs. 
Smith said she should be satisfied if the boy made his 


OLD WILLY’S DEPARTURE. 447 


own choice. So the next morning, before separating 
after breakfast, the proposal was made to Samson. He 
waited a minute in grave consideration, then said, with 
a deliberate tone : 

“I should wish to come and see the place some- 
times ; but, for the i^t, I would as soon be up there as 
down here.” 

Mrs. Smith looked out of the window, and tears 
started to her eyes. 

“ Never mind, mother,” said William, in a low voice ; 
“ there’s many a heart wakes up away from its home, 
that lay fast asleep in it.” But Mrs. Smith made no 
reply ; she felt again the refluent wave of bitter memory, 
reminding her how little she had done to call forth and 
bind the hearts of her children to their home, their 
mother’s dwelling-place. Yet William seemed as if he 
could love no other ; but it might be only his father and 
the place he cared for. It was always for his father 
Joe talked of earning money. Little Tim had seemed 
uneasy with her; and now Samson cared not whether 
he went or stayed. 0 how bitterly around the heart 
flows sin’s returning tide I But then back to the 
mother’s memory came the first utterance of Rose on 
her return, the first words half smothered by her 
feeling, “Mother! O, mother!” and looking round to 
see whether the child who breathed them still were 
hers, she met the earnest eyes of Rose, bent in their 


448 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


full and tenderest expression upon her, as if only one 
thought were in her heart, and that one how her 
mother would bear the decision of Samson to go. 
It was enough ; the mother felt one child to be at 
least a gift from Heaven to her — a gift most un- 
deserved ; and her strengthened^ eart was ready to 
endure in patience and in hop^Pto wait the influence 
of better feelings, now breathed and lived by her, on all 
around. So it was decided for Samson to go. 

Ted had stood by in breathless attention, while the 
fate of his brother was deciding ; but the moment it was 
fixed for Samson to go, and Farmer Smith had taken 
his hat and hastened out to his men, Ted exclaimed, 
“ And what’s going to be done with me ? I mean to 
go to sea ! Joe said he would find me a ship, and if he 
does not, I shall just run away and find one for myself?” 

“ Hey day !” answered William, “ I shall look after 
Rover’s old chain ! How do you think you are to 
climb a mast?” 

“ I will just show you,” said Ted, springing into his 
tall brother’s arms, then on his shoulder, his merry face 
looking down at his brother’s, as he asked, “ Is not that 
something like it ?” 

“Well done !” answered William; “ but there are no 
friendly arms on ship-board, I warn you.” 

“ J ust you come off, then,” said Ted, “ and see me climb 
the barn-roof; I can do it all over. And if you and 


OLD WILLY'S DEPARTURE. 449 


father don’t find me a ship, I will find one for my- 
self!” 

“ I tell you what, my little man,” said William, stop- 
ping suddenly short, as Ted was leading him to the 
barn ; “ I shall not go a step further, nor see you climb, 
till you have listened to me.” So sitting down on the 
cart-shaft that rest^ron the ground, he made a prisoner 
of the impatient boy, and began his discourse. 

“Now, Ted, I tell you what; if you talk so I shall 
expect to hear that you fall down from the barn-roof 
and kill yourself, before ever you see your ship.” 

“Well, but I want to go to sea, and father said 1 
should, and father never said Samson was to go to Lon- 
don, yet he is to go, and I am not.” 

“ I would not have Samson in London if I could not 
trust him,” replied William ; “ and if you were only a 
runaway, who would trust you ? You must try to earn 
a ship, and then I have not the least doubt that we shall 
find you one, and then you will go on board to serve 
like a man, and not like a runaway slave.” 

“ But why may I not go now ? I can never earn it, 
so it is not any use to try ; and I can climb well 
enough, and that’s all a sailor wants to know.” 

“ Yes, but you can earn it, and you will not be happy 
in it if you do not earn it,” said William. 

“ How can I earn it ?” 

“By trying to do your duty now, being a comfort 


450 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


while you are at home, and learning all you possibly 
can to make you worth taking on board ship.” 

“ But I tell you I can climb, and that is all a sailor 
wants to know.” 

“ If you think so you are very much mistaken ; and 
it is a very happy thing for you that the ship is not 
yet lying in the harbor, waiting fof^ou.” 

“ Why, what do I want to know more than climbing ?” 
asked Ted. 

“ What ? why a sailor ought to know as many things 
as any one! The very first voyage you go you may be 
wrecked on some uninhabited island, and what use 
would you be then to yourself or to any one ? Nothing 
better than a poor helpless child ! You must set to and 
learn the use of your hands for something more than 
climbing; a monkey can do that better than you 
already. But you hope to be a man, and I hope so too ; 
and you must begin to act like one, and then I shall be- 
gin to think we may look out for your ship.” 

“ But, Will, what must I learn ?” 

“ Why, go off to Lewis, the basket-maker in the next 
village, and get him to teach you how to twist willow 
withes, and don’t you give over till you can make 
mother a basket strong enough to send her eggs to 
market in. And then get old Master Newson to teach 
you carpentering, and help him to make his wheels, and 
barrows, and his carts. And ther^you must take to 


OLD WILLY’S DEPARTURE. 451 


thatching, and learn how to bind a roof in dry, before 
you reckon yourself all ready for a life that may cast 
and leave you anywhere. And I advise you, these next 
winter evenings, to get Rose to teach you how to work 
with a needle.” 

“ So I will ! and then, William, I can go to old Daw- 
son; I know there is plenty of room for me at his stall, 
and I will be a cobbler, and mend and make shoes. 
What fun ! I will make haste and learn everything.” 

“Yes, to be sure,” replied William ; “and then think 
of what use you might be ! Why, you would be the 
'ast man to be parted with, if you were of use for every- 
thing. What a busy, happy life you might lead ! And 
then, Ted, do you think I have told you all you would 
want to know ?” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Ted, looking up at William’s 
earnest tone. 

“ What if there came a storm at sea, and the ship 
went down, and you went down with it? Do you 
think your spirit would rise, like a little diver, and know 
its way to the holy heaven, where Tim has gone to 
dwell?” 

“ Did Tim know the way ?” asked Ted. 

“ Yes ; don’t you remember how he loved to pray, and 
to learn and repeat the texts and hymns Rose taught 
him, which told of Jesus, who is the way to heaven ?” 

“Yes, I know that,” answered Ted. 

29 


452 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ Then don’t you think you will want to know as much 
as little Tim knew, before you go on those great deep 
waters ? And suppose you should find poor sailor boys, 
or men, who don’t know the way to heaven, you could 
teach them ; and that knowledge would be the best of 
all, both for yourself and others.” ^ 

“ Yes, I dare say it might,” replied Ted ; “but I don’t 
see that I can learn that.” 

“ Not of yourself alone ; but if you really try to learn, 
God will teach you both to know and to love it. Little 
Tim learned from Rose ; would you like to go and see 
our curate with me, and for me to ask him to take you 
into his class of boys, that you may learn that know- 
ledge ?” 

“ Yes, I should not mind that.” 

“ Very well, then, we will go ; and I think by when 
we have found the ship you will be ready for it, with 
knowledge to make you happy yourself, and a comfort 
and blessing, I trust, to others.” 

William returned with Joe to London, leaving Ted 
full of spirit for his trades, and received under the 
curate’s care to learn that which hath the promise, not 
only of the life that now is, but of that which is to come. 
Ted inherited his mother’s energy, and being a general 
favorite, he found little difficulty in persuading the vil- 
lage tradespeople to teach him something of their skill, 
some idea how their work was done, and their tools 


OLD WILLY’S DEPARTURE. 453 

handled'; besides, a refusal was not very easily given to one 
who had no idea of taking it. The curate, in his walk 
through the village, would see his little scholar busy at 
the wheelwright’s side, or look down upon his merry face 
in the cobbler’s stall, intent, with earnest gravity, on 
mending some worn-out boot. Samson went to London 
at Christmas, and so passed away the village winter. 

Old Willy’s health had long been visibly declining ; 
there were those who thought the old man would not 
see another spring, and not without reason, for in the 
frost of February he took to his bed, from which he 
never rose again. Widow Jones was his nurse, Mercy 
his comfort, and Jem his earthly stay and dependence. 
Rose was often sent by her mother with something warm 
from the farm ; and Mrs. Smith herself was not seldom 
seen making her way to the old man’s cottage. Ted, to 
his own perfect satisfaction, had soled a pair of old Willy’s 
boots, for which Dawson, the cobbler, said nothing was 
to be paid, because the work was none of his ; so Ted 
carried them home and set them down close by old 
Willy’s bed, ready for him as soon as he might be able 
to get up ; and, from time to time, the ministering boy 
looked in to see whether the old man had yet made trial 
of the first completed elfort of his skill. But old Willy 
had trod the rough path of the world to its end; he had 
put off his shoes from his feet, and he needed to be shod 
no more, save with the preparation of the Gospel of 


454 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


peace, which time and use, so far from impairing, can 
only serve to strengthen on the heavenward pilgrim’s 
feet. 

At the approach of spring, notice arrived at the Hall 
of the return of Mrs. Clifford and the young squire, and 
immediate preparations were made. A request was 
sent that there should be no demonstration of joy on 
their return ; it was to be as quiet and private as possi- 
ble. The servants were to be arrayed in the garb of 
mourning ; and every circumstance to mark the event, 
not as a family return, but as that of the widow and her 
fatherless son. The day was not made known, in order 
more effectually to prevent an assembling of the people. 
Jem now watched with anxious impatience and fear, 
lest the fast waning life of old Willy should depart 
before his long-cherished wish had been granted, to see 
his young master again. Widow Jones and Mercy had 
for some time kept watch by day, and Jem slept in old 
Willy’s room by night. And still the feeble lamp of 
life burned dimly on with that old man, as if no out- 
ward circumstances now affected its slow and gentle 
expiring. Widow Jones and Mercy were in the cottage, 
when at the sound of carriage-wheels, Mercy ran to the 
door. It was a traveling carriage, and there could bo 
little doubt that it was on its way to the Hall ; but no 
one was visible within, no one looked out as it swiftly 
passed by old Willy’s door. Could it be the young 


OLD WILLY'S DEPARTURE. 455 


squire and the lady of the hall ? Yes ; Jem, when he 
came in the evening, brought word that it was said in 
the village they had arrived. 

Widow Jones had sat up through the previous night, 
and Jem was to keep watch through the first hours of 
this, till his mother should come, after necessary rest, to 
relieve him. The evening closed in, Jem drew the little 
window-curtain, lighted the candle, and opening the old 

% 

man’s Bible, sat down to read. But he found it difficult 
to stay his thoughts on the sacred page ; his mind was 
full of the young squire’s return ; would he be altogether 
changed? Jem feared it must be likely he would; 
away so long, and in foreign parts, he could hardly 
return the same. Yet Jem believed the good were not 
given to change ; he had heard his mother say so when 
he was a child ; and surely the young squire was good if 
ever any were ; so it might be he would prove still the 
same. Then rose the question, would old Willy know 
him if he came to see him? Was there consciousness' 
enough still left for the old man to know his hope ful- 
filled? And Jem looked around on old Willy in 
anxious inquiry. While thought was thus busy within, 
he heard a knock at the door ; then a hand, to whom 
its latch seemed familiar, opened it ; and a stranger gen- 
tleman looked in ; Jem started up, but in a moment he 
knew the face, he knew the friendly smile, he knew the 
form, yes, he knew the very hand that was raised to 


456 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


silence his exclamation and then extended to him. Jem 
bowed his lowest bow, then took the offered hand, and 
grasped it in both of his, while such a light of sudden 
joy suffused his countenance that words were little 
needed. 

Laying his hat on the table, the young squire turned 
to the bed where the old man lay with his eyes closed 
as if in slumber. He stood and looked on him in 
silence. 0 then what a wave from memory’s sea over- 
flowed his heart ; the past, the long past became present 
again ; he thought of his dream, and as vividly as then in 
his sleep did he now seem to see the bright angel who 
watched over the old man, the heir of glory. He 
thought of that time when his work of love was not 
even begun ; he remembered how hard that work had 
seemed at first, then how pleasant; how the difficulty 
again grew worse than before, then brightened into joy. 
And with that remembrance came the thought of his 
father, how he had met him in his childhood’s feelings, 
and made him possessor of the home where old Willy 
dwelt. The recollection of all passed before him, till he 
wiped away his starting tears, and turned round to Jem, 
saying softly, “ He sleeps !” 

“No, sir,” Jem replied, “ I doubt if he does ; he lies 
mostly in that quiet way, as if his doings with earth 
were all over, and we don’t disturb him except for his 
food. But I will just speak to him, now, if you 


OLD WILLY’S DEPARTURE. 457 

f lease, sir, for he has longed sore to see you, and 
may be he will still have the knowledge to understand 
that.” 

Jem went to the pillow, and stooping above it, said 
gently, “ Daddy look up ; I say, daddy, look up and see 
who has come to you here !” 

The old man looked up; the voice -had aroused him 
and called up his half-slumbering senses. Herbert knelt 
down before him ; and the eye of the old man fell on 
him ; and he gazed with that long, earnest look that the 
departing spirit seems to cast back from a still lengthening 
distance its last glance through those eyes that have 
been its earthly portals of vision. The old man gazed 
on Herbert, but he did not speak. It might be he 
thought himself lost in some dream of a hope yet unful- 
filled ; however it might be, the old man gave no sign of 
recognition, save that fixed, earnest look on the face that 
now, after long years, was before him. Herbert in that 
sacred moment felt afraid by the name so familiar to 
appeal to the old man, who seemed so calmly depart- 
ing; afraid to bring back before him the dim visions of 
earth, when he was just landing in heaven. So he 
thought of the words that old Willy most loved, and 
said in his clear, softened tone, “Let not your heart be 
troubled ; ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my 
Father’s house are many mansions ; if it were not so, I 
would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 


458 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Aud if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come 
again and receive you unto myself; that where I am, 
there ye may be also.” 

The old man’s dying ear caught the joyful sound ; he 
listened with clasped hands and eyes upraised, while 
Herbert thus performed for him the last sacred ministry 
his spirit needed on earth. There was silence again, 
and the old man seemed to muse on the words ho 
had heard. Then, as if waking afresh, he looked up 
to Jem, who still stood beside him, and called, in his 
feeble tone and words of endearment, “Jem, my poor 
boy!” 

Jem stooped to his pillow again, and the old man 
said, “ I have seen him ; he is grown up to a heavenly 
man ; and he spoke those same words from my book 
that he had read me often and often before. I knew 
him, for the voice was his own.” 

There Herbert still knelt by the side of the bed, but 
the old man had ceased to discern him ; his dim eyes 
now failed him. Then Herbert rose up, and taking his 
seat on the bed, he leaned over old Willy, and laid his 
hand softly on the old man’s, and said, “ Willy, dear old 
Willy ; your young master’s here ; I am he ; don’t you 
know me?” 

Then the old man wept; and raising liis hand, as 
had been his custom when feeling overpowered him, he 
said, “ It is granted then ; my young master’s come.” 


OLD WILLY’S DEPARTURE. 459 

And looking through his tears to where Hei6ert sat 
before him, he said, with calmer utterance, “ I have 
waited for you ! I knew you would come ! and now I 
have seen you, I am ready to go. I heard those sweet 
words you spoke from my book, and they have lifted 
me up to those mansions above. I am now at the door ; 
I shall soon be gone in, and you will come to me there. 
You have sheltered me here ; I have not known a 
want ; but the good Lord above has sent for me home ; 
his angels are come ; but he would let me stay till I had 
my last wish, to see you once more. Will you care for 
my Jem? and please let him have my book to show 
him the way; and the coat that you brought me; it 
will serve him for years. And when I am gone, let 
them lay me to rest at the feet of my lady; I have 
stood at the foot of her tomb in winter and summer ; I 
went there most days to look where she lay, and ’tis 
there I would lie ; where I always have stood to keep 
watch over her. I know that the angels keep sight of 
her grave, and they’ll watch over me, whom she taught 
the way to heaven where they dwell. She is sure to see 
me when I enter in, with robes all washed white in the 
blood of the Lamb! She will know then how fast in 
my heart I have kept the name of my Saviour ; long 
nights as I lie here, I still say to myself, ‘ Jesus, my 
Saviour ; Lord Jesus, my God !’ and it keeps me so 
close by the heavenly gate that I have only been wait- 


460 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


ing for you. I leave you my blessing, dear young mas- 
ter ; God grant you may know what the blessing of the 
poor man can be ; ’tis the God up above who makes the 
poor’s blessing rich, and with my dying prayer I com- 
mend you to him.” 

Herbert had already bowed his head on the old 
man’s hand, which his own hand still held ; and, at his 
parting blessing, the- old man raised again his other 
hand in act of prayer; then, spent with the effort, it fell 
by his side, and he seemed to repose. Herbert at length 
rose, and spoke softly with Jem, and would have sent 
further assistance to watch through the night, but Jem 
said his mother had had already some hours of rest, and 
would be there by midnight, and he would rather be 
alone till then. So Herbert returned to the Hall ; but 
a servant soon arrived at the cottage bringing warm 
cordials ; Jem again roused the old man, to take some, 
and he well understood who had sent* the warm cordial 
for him; then turning again to rest on his pillow, he 
slept. Jem watched by him there, while his breathing 
became stiller, till it ceased ; and Jem, watching beside 
him, knew not when he died. 

Herbert called at the cottage again the next day, and 
looked on the smile that still lingered on the lips of the 
departed. Jem was away at the farm, but Widow Jones 
and Mercy were there. Widow Jones took from a 
drawer a small bag of money, saying to Herbert, “I 


OLD WILLY’S DEPARTURE. 461 

made my promise to tlie old man, sir, that I would give 
that for his burying ; he said he considered it was right 
that he should make a provision for that.” 

“ Keep it then for yourself,” replied Herbert ; “ I shall 
lay him to his rest.” 

“ Thank you, sir, I am sure,” replied Widow Jones ; 
“ but if you won’t be offended, sir, I could not be satis- 
fied to take it, because he had laid it all by, and I prom- 
ised him to give it for that.” 

“ Then let me have it,” said Herbert, “ and I will send 
it for Bibles to be given in heathen lands ; that was what 
lay nearest his heart, and so in that way his own money 
shall embalm him.” 

The winter’s rain was over and gone, the flowers had 
appeared on the earth, the time of the singing of birds 
was come, and the voice of the turtle was heard in 
the land ; then it was they bore the old man’s body to 
its rest. Herbert walked on one side of the coffin, and 
Jem on the other, and the village mourners followed. 
They had dug the old man’s grave, at the young 
squire’s direction, across the foot of the lady’s tomb; 
and there, with the words of blessing and the tears of 
affection, they laid him to his rest. Herbert linger- 
ed the last, Jem waiting near, at his desire ; Her- 
bert spoke not of the past, but it rose in fresh remem- 
brance before him; till at last, turning slowly away 
from that hallowed spot, he descended the hill in 


462 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


heavenly converse with Jem. The cottage was shut 
up, the young squire kept the key, and the dwelling 
mourned for three months, in desolation, the life it had 
sheltered from birth, and now lost from its shelter 
forever. 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


403 


CHAPTEK XXIII. 

A HAPPY FAMILY. 

It grew up together with him, and with his children ; and was 
unto him as a daughter. — 2 Samuel xii, 3. 

When three months had passed away, the young 
squire went alone to old Willy’s cottage. He stayed 
some time in the house, then walked in the garden, 
and seemed engaged in a general consideration of the 
place. The next day workmen arrived, and the young • 
squire went down to meet them. Then began pulling 
down and building up; the front of the cottage remained 
as it was, the room in which old Willy sat by day and 
slept by nigh was untouched, but other rooms were add- 
ed behind, till the dwelling rose with its three cham- 
bers above, its back kitchen and little dairy, and out- 
houses complete. Some said the young squire was going 
to turn the place into a farm ; but no, it was a simple 
cottage still, too large for one person, but with every 
comfort for a family. The young squire often walked 
down to the spot, looking with interest on all, and giv- 
ing his directions to the workmen. 


464 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Meanwhile the summer months were gliding by. 
Snowflake and Jet again drew the pony carriage, and 
Herbert again drove his mother out ; and still sometimes 
Mrs. Clifford would call at a cottage, but more generally 
she only stopped in passing to make kind inquiry. It 
was evident that any general intercourse with others 
was, as yet, an effort to her. But one day she stopped 
at Widow Jones’s door, and finding her at home, went 
in. Mrs. Clifford had never forgotten Mercy, the child 
in whom Miss Clifford had always seemed, perhaps, to 
take more interest than in any other ; and Mrs. Clifford, 
knowing her to be of an age for service, and remember- 
ing her delicate look, was afraid lest any place of com- 
mon work should prove beyond her strength; so she 
• called on Widow Jones to ask whether she had any wish 
about her granddaughter that she could be aided in. 
Widow Jones replied that she had long been on the 
look-out for a situation for Mercy ; the field work was 
too much for her ; she had not the strength for it, and 
that was her fear about service ; but she believed slu 
must make inquiry for a place in the town before 
another winter came on. 

Hearing this, Mrs. Clifford offered to take Mercy, and 
have her trained under her own maid, adding, “I should 
have her a good deal with me ; she would have to read 
to me, and to carry out many little plans, I may not feel 
able to undertake now myself, in the village. I believe 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 465 

her to be capable of this, and if it meets your wish, I 
shall be quite willing to try her.” 

This proposal was received with overflowing gratitude 
by Widow Jones ; and when Mercy heard of it, with de- 
light by her. To live still in her own village near her 
grandmother, to live in her young lady’s own home, and 
to wait on madam — all this was more than hope could 
have believed, or imagination pictured. So Mercy went 
to service at the Hall, to wait on Mrs. Clifford, and be 
trained under her maid. 

When September hung its ripe fruit upon the trees in 
old Willy’s garden, the cottage stood complete ; the 
bricklayers, and carpenters, and thatchers, and glaziers, 
and painters were gone ; the door was again locked, and 
the place stood silent and peaceful. Then early one 
autumn evening, just as Jem returned home from his 
work at the farm, the young squire called at his cottage, 
saying, “ I came to ask you and your mother to come 
and see the dear old man’s dwelling. I have had it en- 
larged ; and you always took so much interest in it, that 
I wish to show it to you myself.” 

Widow Jones put on her bonnet, and walked up the 
lane with her son Jem and the young squire. The sun 
was setting, and his parting beams fell upon the cottage 
roof, and gilded the garden trees. The young squire 
crossed the garden stile, the very same that used to be; 
then turning round, he said with a grave smile to Jem, 


466 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


‘‘Do you remember tbe dark morning when you and 
I first crossed that stile together ?” 

“ It was a good morning, sir, for him that dwelt with 
in !” said Jem ; and on they passed. 

The young squire unlocked the door, and they went 
in. There was the same look about the open fireplace ; 
the very chair old Willy always sat in, with its crimson 
cushion, was there ; there stood the little table, and the 
very stool on which the young squire used to sit. The bed 
was gone, and in its place stood a bureau, and a larger 
table, and chairs round the room, while flowers in pots 
bloomed in the window, “ What do you think of it ?” 
asked the young squire, as Jem and his mother looked 
round with wondering eyes. 

“’Tis made wholly beautiful, I’m sure,” said Jem. 

“There is not the cottage like to it in the place!” said 
Widow Jones. 

“Then, Jem, what do you say to being my tenant, 
and bringing your old mother to live here in comfort ?” 

“ Well, sir, I am afraid I should fail more in the doing 
than the saying, so far as that is concerned ; my best 
wages could never clear the rent of such a place as this.” 

“ And I suppose,” said the young squire, “ you would 
be as hard as my dear old Willy himself, to be per- 
suaded that a house could be honestly tenanted without 
the payment of money. But you need not fear robbing 
me when I say you shall pay me no rent, for I hold this 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


467 


dwelling a sacred place, for many reasons, and so long as 
I can find a faithful heart to inhabit it, I mean never to 
let it for money. I make it your home now, and your 
mother’s, till such time as you may receive notice to quit 
it, which will not be with my desire, so long as life is grant- 
ed you, if you are enabled to maintain the same charac- 
ter as that which wins my regard for you now. You 
will find the upper rooms furnished as well as this. The 
furniture is all your own : I purchased it for you ; 
the house and land you hold as my tenant, in proof of 
which you may always send up to the Hall the first dish 
of rosy apples you gather from the trees I planted ! 
There is a small field, that was part of the little place 
when bought ; I let it to the farmer who had hired it be- 
fore, old Willy having no use for it, but 1 have now at- 
tached it to the cottage, and had a gate made into it 
from the garden : you can let it or use it, as you like, 
only seeing that it is kept in grass, and not dug up with- 
out my consent. And may old Willy’s God grant you 
to live to as blessed and peaceful an old age as he 
enjoyed beneath this roof!” 

Widow Jones and her son were filled with surprise 
and gratitude. The squire let them speak their broken 
words of thankfulness, that they might not afterward feel 
distressed at having said nothing. And then talking 
a few minutes more with them, and telling Widow 
Jones that he should request his mother to let her 
30 


468 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


granddaughter be sent to them the next day to help 
them move in, he left them with the key in their pos- 
session. 

The move was soon effected, where everything was 
prepared beforehand for use and comfort. Widow 
Jones sold off most of her old furniture, saying' there was 
scarce a piece of it that was fit so much as to see inside 
of such a place as the squire had prepared for her Jem ; 
and there, with Mercy’s help, they slept in peace the 
following night ; Widow Jones only expressing her fear 
as to how she could ever bring her mind to the care of 
such things as stood on every side there, look which way 
you would. When the young squire went to college in 
October, he left Jem quietly settled in his new abode. 
The whole village rejoiced in the good fortune of Jem — 
honest Jem ; for Jem was, as may be supposed, a general 
favorite. Was he not always ready to lend a helping hand, 
tender some kindly office in sickness or trouble, and at 
all times to speak a pleasant word ? None but the bad 
could have failed to look kindly on honest Jem. But 
among the general pleasure felt, none was more warmly 
expressed than Mrs. Smith’s ; her regard for both mother 
and son seemed to make her pleasure in the event double; 
and never could honest laborer, and faithful servant, and 
dutiful son, have entered a new abode with more pleas- 
ant feeling to himself and others, than honest Jem, when 
he called the home of old Willy his own. 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


469 


William’s return had been anxiously looked for this 
year at the farm ; but when the time drew near he wrote 
word to his father, that though very sorry to be absent 
longer, he did feel a wish to stay one year more. His 
uncle, he said, would be glad to detain him, and offered 
to raise his salary again ; but he did not feel bound 
on that account. Still there were reasons that would 
make him^lad of another year; and though he felt the 
disappointed hope more, he was sure, than any one else 
could, yet, if his father was willing, he certainly should 
wish to stay till the following July, when he hoped to 
be down in time to put the first sickle to the corn. 
Samson was getting on well in his uncle’s business 
and favor. Joe was as happy as possible, and plainly 
giving satisfaction in the merchant’s office; and by next 
year Joe hoped to have found a ship for Ted. So the 
hope of the parents was still deferred ; and a short visit 
from their three sons, all they could that year enjoy. 
William said nothing as to his reason for wishing 
to remain longer in London ; but everything seemed 
going on well with the three brothers ; and it was not 
difficult for Farmer Smith to believe that to have 
William to watch over the other two was a great 
security for them. 

In the following winter the old clergyman died. 
Much anxiety was felt in the village as to whether the 
curate would remain ; the anxiety of Mrs. Smith equaled 


470 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


that felt by Farmer Smith and Rose ; and great and uni* 
versal was the joy, when it was known that Mrs. Clifford 
had presented the living to the curate, and that now the 
villagers might hope he would live and die among them. 
The late clergyman’s widow remained some months in 
the rectory, and everything went on as before, till one 
day Farmer Smith returned from market with an 
unusually clouded brow. 

“ I never saw you look more like bad news,” said Mrs 
Smith ; “ what has happened ?” 

Farmer Smith was silent. 

/‘Come now,” said Mrs. Smith, “bad will be none the 
better for waiting. I may as well know to-day as to- 
morrow.” 

“ Well, it’s only the horse,” said Farmer Smith. “I 
saw a paper in the town; and there’s to be a sale at the 
rectory, and Black Beauty is in the list.” 

“Well,” replied Mrs. Smith, “he is none of yours 
now ; and you can’t take up with vexing over the sale 
of other people’s creatures. Not but what I am sorry 
enough myself ; but I have seen the good of his going 
since, and you must think of that. If Will laid the first 
stone of Joe’s good fortune, it was the horse helped you 
to set him on it ; you could not have done it without 
him. I am sure I made sin enough of it before, so I 
have reason to bear with it now. I am only thankful 
the child does not know of his going, he used to count 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


471 


so of seeing the creature pass by ; but he is better off; 
and we, why we must take the rough with the smooth 
as it comes, and be thankful there’s One who can make 
them both ‘work together for good,’ as the minister 
tells us.” 

Farmer Smith felt relieved, for he had dreaded the 
telling his wife, or her knowing that the favorite horse 
was to be put up to the highest bidder. The young 
squire was absent at college ; and many a time Farmer 
Smith thought, had he but been at the Hall, there was 
little doubt that he would have bought the favorite, and 
then the creature would but have exchanged one good 
stable for another, still in sight of his first possessors. 
But the young squire was away ; so there was no 
prospect but that of soon looking his last on Black 
Beauty. 

No further mention was made of the subject, till a 
day or two after Ted rushed in, exclaiming, “Mother, 
where’s father ? there’s to be a sale at the rectory, and 
Black Beauty’s down in the list. The bill is up on the 
blacksmith’s shop ; I saw it myself.” 

“ Well, child, the rector’s lady has as much right to 
sell the horse as your father had ; it was his then ; it is 
hers now.” 

“What! don’t you mind about it then, mother?” 

“Mind, child! what’s the use of minding? I have 
vexed too much already for the poor beast. Don’t you 


472 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


say a word to your father about it; I shall mind 
that if you do ; let him forget it if he can.” 

“ But, mother, father can’t forget. How can he forget, 
when he must hear and know all about it ?” 

“ Well, don’t you say a word to make him think the 
more ; you try and make the best of it, not the worst ; 
that’s what you have to do.” 

“I know what I shall do,” replied Ted; “I shall just 
write off and tell William.” 

“ No, that I do forbid,” said Mrs. Smith ; “ for why 
in the world would you want to worry him with it? 
Do you think he has not felt enough about it 
already ?” 

“Yes, mother, but then I know William has some 
money ; I am quite sure of that, and a great deal too ; for 
when I asked him if he had not, last time he was down, 
he said, ‘What you would call a great deal, perhaps.’ 
So I know he has ; and then he could just send and buy 
Black Beauty away from them all.” 

“ That does not signify,” replied Mrs. Smith. “ If 
William has money, he has earned it hardly enough; 
and I would not for the world have it taken from him 
to buy back a horse.” 

“ Well, mother, William does not care for money, I 
am sure ; for he said when I asked him if he had not 
got a great deal, that he would have given all up, over 
and over again, to be only yard-boy on his father’s 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


473 


farm, if there had been none but himself he had to 
think of. So I am sure he can’t care for money ; and 
everybody knows how he cared for that horse.” 

“Never mind, child; it’s plain enough he did not 
wish to be after buying him back, or he could have 
said as easy as not, ‘ If there’s a sale, you might let me 
know ;’ but he never said a word about it in any letter, 
and if we write him word, why it will put him up to do 
it just to please us. and I would not have that on any 
account. I will not have a word written to any one 
of them till the sale is over; you remember I have 
said it.” 

“ Well, mother, if I must not speak to father nor 
William, I declare I will go off to the sale and see after 
the horse myself; and I will speak a word to whoever 
buys him, let it be who it will, if it’s no more than to 
tell them what our minister told us in our class ; it may 
stick by them and fright them a little, if they don’t use 
him as they should ! I would not have him bought 
and led off, and no one to speak a word for him, for any- 
thing.” 

“Very well,” replied Mrs. Smith, “so long as you 
keep to what our minister says, you are safe enough.” 
And Ted, satisfied at having at last fixed upon something 
he might do, grew more composed on the subject, and 
when alone with his father, he said, “ Never you mind, 
father, about Black Beauty’s being sold off again ; I have 


474 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


just got a word to say to whoever buys him, that may 
be of good use to the horse ; I mean to be up at the 
sale, and see all about it, and then I can tell you, father.” 
And the thought of this seasonable address that was to 
be made to the buyer of Black Beauty, with the care 
necessary in composing and recomposing it to make it 
as brief and forcible as possible, changed the prospect of 
the approaching sale into an event of effort and interest, 
rather than of distress to Ted. 

The morning of the sale arrived. “Mother,” said 
Ted, “ I must be off now, and I want my best jacket ; no 
one will care for me if I don’t look something respecta- 
ble.” So Mrs. Smith brought Ted his best jacket, which 
was of dark blue, having been his particular request,, as 
most suitable for one who was soon to be a sailor ; arrayed 
in this, with his round straw hat on the side of his head, 
and his little cane in his hand, he set off to the sale. 
“ Never you mind, hither,” said Ted, as he stopped to 
speak to his parent on the green slope from the house, 
“ I am off to the sale, just to do what can be done, and 
then I will come home and tell you ; and there’s sure to 
be good come of it, father, though we may never know it ; 
for the minister says, when the right thing is done, if 
people don’t think of it at first, they will sooner or later ; 
and I know just what he said about those who have to 
do with dumb creatures ; so never you mind, father, I 
am now off for the sale. Tell mother not to think about 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


475 


dinner for me, there’s no saying when I shall le back.” 
“Take care what you are after,” said the father. But 
off ran the ministering boy to watch over Black Beauty 
and speak the word of warning he had heard from the 
minister’s lips, to whoever might purchase the horse. 

It was a heavy day to Farmer Smith; this second sale 
of the favorite horse, close by his own door, and he not 
able to purchase it back, nor now to have any control 
over the hands into which it passed, troubled him not a 
little. The creature had been born and reared on his 
farm, had played with his children, fed from their hands, 
he had himself broken it in for use, and it would leave its 
food or its pasture at any time at the first sound of his 
voice ; the after-tie may be strong between master and 
steed, but it is on the farm where the creature is born, 
and reared, and trained, that the feeling becomes all but 
a family bond. 

Mrs. Smith took the event more quietly ; her heart had 
been broken up by the bitter anguish of remorse, 
remorse for years of pride of heart and self-will ; and 
though the balm of heavenly love may bind up such 
broken hearts, yet must the surface-changes of life have 
but comparatively little power of distress, where sorrow 
so far deeper still lies within. Yet Mrs. Smith did feel 
it; and the point in which it touched her most, was 
her sense of what the sorrow of little Tim would have 
been to have had his favorite sold away a second time, 


476 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


where he could never see him pass. But Mrs. Smith 
spoke not of this; she had learned to endure in silence, 
conscious of the past, when her personal annoyances 
were always made a'subject of distress for others ; so she 
now made an effort to hide her own feeling, and com- 
fort those around her. Rose saw her father’s grave ex- 
pression of face, and stepping out beside him after din- 
ner, said, “Never mind, father; I think it’s better the 
horse should be taken quite away before Will comes 
home, or he would always be seeing him, and then you 
know, father, perhaps he could not help wishing for him, 
and that would be wrong now he is sold away; and it 
would be vexing to William, and to Joe, if he knew that 
William could not help wishing him back ; so I think 
it’s best, father.” 

“ So it is, Rose, I dare say, if I could but be sure of 
his being well off.” 

“ But, father, God made the creatures ; and when we 
can’t take care of them any longer, we must leave them 
to him. I am sure, father, you did the best you could, 
and then, if we don’t feel satisfied, that looks as if we 
could not trust God Almighty ; and you know it says 
in the Bible, the sparrow does not fall to the ground 
without our heavenly Father.” 

“ So it does, Rose ; I will think of that. O, if my 
mother could but hear how you comfort me. But I 
have a hope now, that I shall show you to her sorrfe 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


477 


day in heaven, and tell her how her prayers were all 
answered, though she never knew it.” So Farmer 
Smith passed on with a livelier step to his men, and 
Rose went back to iron at her mother’s side. 

Ted had not returned to dinner ; and now his mother, 
each time she paused in her work and set the iron down 
upon the stand, gave a glance from the window. 

“ I can’t think what the child is stopping after, all 
this time,” at length said Mrs. Smith. 

“ I dare say Black Beauty came near the end of the 
sale,” replied Rose ; “ and he said he should not stir from 
the place till he saw what became of him.” 

Mrs. Smith said no more ; only looking from time to 
time along the distant road. Four o’clock, five o’clock 
passed, and Rose prepared the tea ; the ironing was 
finished and all cleared away, the table was set, the toast 
made, Mr. Smith came in, but no Ted appeared. 

“I cannot think what the boy is after,” said Mrs. 
Smith. “ I wish you would just step and see ; and tell 
him he must come home. I would not have him stay 
after dark among a set of horse-dealers for anything.” 

Mr. Smith took his hat and went, and Mrs. Smith 
watched at the window, watched till she saw him re- 
turning alone. “ Where’s the child ?” asked Mrs. 
Smith ; “ I wish enough you had brought him.” 

“I don’t think he will take any harm,” replied Farmer 
Smith. “ I saw Beetlebright, the horse-dealer, there, 


478 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


and I asked him to have an eye on the hoy, who was in 
the very thick of it, among them all, looking on as earnest 
as possible. I could not catch a sight from his eye, and 
Beetlebright told me the horse was coming on directly ; 
so I came off, for I could not stand to see him led up. 
But I was not sorry I went, for I heard some good 
news.” 

“Did you?” asked Mrs. Smith; and her tone betrayed 
how far she was from indifference on the subject. 

“ Yes, Beetlebright told me he knew who had given 
prders to have the horse purchased, and I might be sure 
he would have a good master, if ever he had.” 

“Well, that’s a comfort,” said Mrs. Smith ; “I am sure 
I am thankful enough. Did he say who ?” 

“ No, he turned off at that ; and I thought no doubt 
he would not be free of speaking beforehand, and I 
heard them call for the horse, so I came off.” 

Upon this, Mrs. Smith, and Rose, and her father, sat 
down to tea, but with more feeling of mind than hunger 
of body. 

“Just you look here, Miss Rose!” said Patience, step- 
ping quickly up to the door of the family kitchen, which 
always stood open. 

All ran to the window, being ready for any alarm. 
There came the boy, in the blue jacket and straw hat, 
mounted on Black Beauty, as large as life, and as steady 
as Time, stepping down the old familiar hill, the home 




































i ' 

•V 











































• . , 















470 


i 





A HAPPY FAMILY. 


479 


road to the farm, which he had never trod since the day 
that Joe led him away. All hurried out from the door ; 
Rose flew down the sloping green to the valley at the 
foot of the hill, where Black Beauty stopped of his own 
accord, and arched his neck, and put his nose into her 
hand. 

“Now, Rose, that will do; don’t you see I want to be 
off to father !” said Ted. And off Black Beauty started 
on the accustomed canter along the path up the green- 
sward that led to the wicket gate of the garden. 

“ Do go and see,” said Mrs. Smith, “ what the boy 
is after.” 

But Farmer Smith stood still with Mrs. Smith beside 
the garden gate, at which, in a minute more, Black 
Beauty made a stand. 

“ What in the world have you been after, boy ? 
What are you doing with the horse?” asked Mrs. 
Smith ; while Rose came breathless from her run, and 
stood beside. But now Black Beauty’s turn was come 
to give expression to his feeling ; he stood again upon 
home ground, close to his master, who had never spoken 
to him since the parting day ; he rested his head upon 
his master’s shoulder, stepped from side to side, reached 
down his nose and courted the caress first of one and 
then the other, while all seemed to foil in its power 
to express the noble creature’s joy. The men were 
turning home from the farm, laden with their imple- 


480 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


ments and baskets, and they gathered wondering round. 
Jem and the yard-boy, and Patience too, were there; 
all looking intent on the mystery ; while Mrs. Smith 
hastily repeated her inquiry. 

“What in the world are you after, boy? Make haste, 
I say, and speak it out !” 

“Now, mother,” said Ted, seated like a chieftain 
on his charger, “ don’t look as if you thought it must b6 
wrong because I have done it.” 

“ Done what ?” said Mrs. Smith ; “ what have you 
done ?” 

“ Why, brought the horse home, mother.” 

“ But how came you by him ? that’s what I want to 
know.” 

“Well, mother, I did not steal him, though you look 
as if you were afraid I had ; nor beg him, nor borrow 
him ; he was given me right away for father as I stood 
there !” 

“Who by?” asked Farmer Smith, anxiously and 
earnestly. 

“Why, I don’t know, father; only it was the man who 
bought him, so I suppose he had a right to give him if 
he liked.” 

“ I am afraid there’s some mistake in it,” said Farmer 
Smith, seriously, looking along the road to see if ex- 
planation, clearer than his boy’s, might be coming there, 
but no one was in sight. 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


481 


“Well, now, father, you listen, and I will just tell 
you,” said Ted, still seated on the creature, yet restless 
with its joy. “As soon as ever they led up the horse 
there was a man came and stood near where I was. He 
seemed, I thought, to be thinking of buying, and I 
wished he might; for I liked the look of him. Well, 
they kept bidding, and I got in such a way, for the man 
seemed ever so many times as if he would let him 
go, and he kept so quietty at it, that at last I did not 
know who had the horse; but I found he was gone 
down to some one, so I kept asking, ‘ Who has him ? 
who has him ?’ and they pointed out this man. So I 
watched my opportunity when he was pretty well alone, 
and then I went up and just said what I had to say 
* to him. Well, he listened, and when I had done, he 
said, ‘You come along with me, and see what you think 
of my usage.’ So I went with him, and he never said 
a word more, but unpacked this saddle and bridle, only 
you see, hither, what a saddle it is !” said Ted, tumbling 
himself off and lifting up the lappets, more thoroughly 
to display the saddle’s excellence. 

“ Well, child, what then ?” asked his mother. 

“ Why, when he had done putting them on, and see- 
ing they were all right, he said, ‘Now, little master, have 
you a mind to ride V and before I knew what to say he 
had lifted me up. 0 how the good creature did paw the 
ground when I was once upon him ! he knew me as well 


482 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


as anything, and thought he was coming off here, I 
know he did.” 

“ Well, child, but go on,” said Mrs. Smith. 

“ Dear me, mother, I don’t know any more ; only 
when the man had lifted me on, he said, ‘ You go and 
preach your sermon to your father, for he is the ownei 
of this horse now ; and you tell him that if he does not 
know how to take care of him, he has a son that can 
teach him ! And I will be down after you presently, 
when I have settled some other business.” 

“Was it Beetlebright, the horse-dealer?” asked Farmer 
Smith. 

“ I don’t know, father, but I think I have seen him 
before in the town.” 

“But did he not say a word of who sent him?” 

“ Why, he sent him, father ; he bought him, and sent 
him.” 

“Nonsense, child; a horse-dealer would never make 
me such a present.” 

“ Here’s some one now coming down the road, sir,” 
said one of the men. They all watched ; and Farmer 
Smith soon descried the substantial figure of Beetlebright 
the horse-dealer, who made his way to the assembled 
group. 

“ I am afraid,” said Farmer Smith, stepping forward, 
“ we are under some little mistake in stopping the horse 
at our gate.” 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


488 

“Not a bit of it,” replied the horse-dealer, “if you 
can trust that handwriting, and I think it’s as good and 
honest a hand as I have seen for many a day.” So say- 
ing, the horse-dealer gave a sealed letter to Farmer 
Smith, who opened it, and read : 

* Dear Father, 

“ It was my sorrow to cost you your favorite horse ; 
you did not spare him, neither did William, and now it 
is my joy to have earned him back again. I have been 
so afraid I should not get money enough before, for 
some reason or other, he might be sold off. I have 
never spent so much as a sixpence, no, nor a penny, I 
think, that I could do without ; and now I have twenty 
pounds in hand, over and above what you had for 
him, so I am sure of it now ! I hope I am thankful ; 
I am sure I think I am. Don’t let a word be said to 
William, but when he comes home let the horse be 
taken to meet him. Be sure you don’t let him know 
till then. My love to mother, and Rose, and Ted. 

“Your affectionate and dutiful son, 

Joseph Smith.” 

Farmer Smith put the letter into his wife’s hand, 
and turned to the horse to hide his feeling. 

“Well, I suppose it’s all right?” said the horse-deal- 
er. “Mere’s my commission too, with the order for the 
31 


iS4 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

new saddle and bridle and be put an open letier into 
Farmer Smith’s band. “ As to what be says upon paying 
my charge on the commission, that’s all paid already in 
the pleasure of the job ; I can say I never had a pleas- 
anter ; and if such a lad does not turn out well, I don’t 
know who will.” 

“ Who’s done it, father ?” asked Rose. 

“Why Joe himself!” said her father; “he says he 
has never spent a sixpence he could help, for fear he 
might not have the money ready when an opportunity 
of buying the creature might come.” 

“Well done, Joe,” said Ted. “I’ll be up to you, 
when I’m a sailor, though !” 

“Why, it’s Master Joe; its Master Joe has done it 
himself!” was repeated among the men; and casting a 
pleased, expressive look at the father of such a son, they 
began to disperse to their homes, to tell there how 
Master Joe had never rested till he brought back the 
black horse to his father’s stable. Mrs. Smith gave the 
letter to her husband, and turned within doors, glad at 
that moment to escape observation. 

“ Well, you will be thinking, I suppose, of leading 
him off to his stable ?” said the horse-dealer. “ I wish 
you joy of him, and twenty times more of such a son. 
And then I will just step in with you, for I am alto- 
gether done up with my day’s work.” Ted led the 
horse, and Farmer Smith followed, and Jem to unsaddle 


THE HAPPY FAMILY. 


485 


him, and Rose followed also. Ted made all haste to 
give the horse a feed, but the creature, while he stooped 
to receive it, looked round as if something were missing. 
“ Come, Black Beauty, eat,” said Ted, impatient to give 
the first food ; but the horse, while he stooped his head 
in obedience, still lifted his large eye and looked to the 
door. 

“ Look, father ; what’s the matter ?” said Ted ; “ Black 
Beauty won’t eat.” 

“Never mind,” said Rose; “don’t say a word; he is 
watching for little Tim. Here, put his food in the 
manger, he will eat when we are gone ; and come in to 
tea ; do, Ted ; you have had nothing sin^p breakfast.” 

So Ted spread out the food in the manger, and fol- 
lowed his father and the horse-dealer, with Rose, in to 
tea. 

“What’s the matter, mother?” asked Ted, as his 
mother stooped to tuck him up in his little bed that 
night. 

“Nothing, dear,” answered his mother; “only I was 
thinking how good Joe had been.” 

“ Well, mother, I would wait till Joe was bad, before 
I cried about him,” said Ted. 

“Ah, Ted,” replied his mother, “perhaps you may 
know some day what it is to shed a tear for goodness 
you don’t deserve ; for the Lord’s goodness, if not for 
irumY” 


0 


486 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“But was that all you were thinking of, mother?” 
asked Ted, concerned at the sight of his mother’s tears. 

“ Well, I was thinking of little Tim, and how de- 
lighted he would have been to see the horse come 
back” 

“Well, mother, you need not cry about him; we 
read in our class to the minister how they ride on white 
horses in heaven ; and he is better off there, mother.” 

“ So he is, dear,” replied Mrs. Smith ; and kissing her 
boy, she left him to sleep on his pillow, and turned 
away to think of her children on earth, and her young- 
est in glory in heaven. 

Then came tjie warm, bright harvest month July; 
and before the sickle was put to the corn, William was 
to return. And Joe got leave of a few days’ absence 
also, having obtained a berth for Ted on board a mer- 
chant ship. The two brothers traveled outside the coach. 
O what a day was that for William ; all his best hopes 
fulfilled, and he returning, after so many years of ab 
sence, to live at home again and farm his father’s land. 
Chestnut was put in the chaise, and Ted was to ride 
Black Beauty for William, with the new saddle and 
bridle. What care had been taken to rub down the 
glossy coat of Black Beauty, to comb his mane, and 
show him to best effect. All day the farm had been in 
commotion ; Patience scrubbing and cleaning the always 
clean house ; Mrs. Smith baking her largest variety of 


THE HAPPY FAMILY. 


487 


best approved viands ; Rose hanging the new little eur 
tains she had made at the window of what was now to 
be William’s room ; men and boys getting all things in 
their best order, in preparation for Master William’s 
return ; while Ted devoted himself exclusively and 
entirely to the grooming of Black Beauty. Then came 
the starting time, when Farmer Smith drove off in the 
chaise, and Ted, in blue jacket and straw hat, on Black 
Beauty, who ambled and capered along as if he knew it 
to be a festive occasion. 

“ Ah ! you good old fellow,” said Ted, “ you little 
think who you will have to bring home again with you.” 

Mrs. Smith watched from the door till the chaise and 
the horse were out of sight, then turned within to 
hasten preparations with Rose. The coach was still 
miles away, when the chaise and Black Beauty made 
their halt at the next village inn ; but after long waiting 
a cloud of dust came in sight, then the four gray horses, 
and men’s hats on the top of the coach. Now Ted had 
made Black Beauty stand full in view across the road, 
while he concealed himself behind the chaise. 

“ There’s father,” said William ; and standing up he 
seemed ready to spring from the top of the coach, before 
ever it stopped at the inn. And then, in a minute 
more, he added, “ Why, Joe, I declare, if there isn’t 
Black Beauty waiting for some one ; how unfortunate, 
just when father’s come there.” 


488 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


“ 0, father’s got over all that now,” said Joe, “ and 
does not mind the sight of him the least.” 

William looked at Joe as if he doubted not only the 
fact, but also that Joe could suppose forgetfulness possi- 
ble ; but he said nothing ; and the coach stopped, and 
William was the first to set foot on the ground ; and he 
wrung his father’s hand with a grasp that said more 
than words ; and then, quite unable to resist the tempt- 
ation, turned to speak to Black Beauty. The faithful 
creature knew his young master, and had chafed and 
stamped after William’s descent from the coach till he 
turned and laid his hand upon his neck. 

“ Why, Ted, my boy ; what are you doing here V 
said William, suddenly perceiving his young brother. 

* Holding your horse for you, sir !” 

“ 0 Ted, Ted 1” said William, half reproachfully ; “ do 
70U know who the horse is waiting for ?” 

“ For you, sir.” 

“ Come, come 1” said William ; “ no joking about 
that. Now, father, if Joe has the luggage, we’ll be 
off.” 

Joe had been engaged in securing what William had 
seemed to have forgotten, and then stepping to Black 
Beauty’s side, Joe took the bridle from Ted, and putting 
it in William’s hand, said, “Your merchant-brother, 
William, has bought him back; the first-fruits of his 
earnings.” 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


489 


“ You don’t mean it !” said William. 

“ Yes, Will, but I do ; and none can say he is the 
worse for being twice bought and sold for the sake 
of a brother!” William looked on Joe; and that 
look was enough, but still he said in a low tone, “ O 
Joe, I little thought of this, when you were so bent on 
saving.” 

And he sprang on Black Beauty, who knew his rider, 
and gently rearing, darted forward, on — by the well- 
known lanes, past the old familiar fields where every 
tree and hedge-row seemed to greet his return ; on — 
out of sight and sound of the tardier steed behind him, 
swiftly on, his horse bore him, to the home of his heart 
and toil. There, in that sweet summer evening, his 
mother stood and watched with Rose, not on the door- 
step, but beside the garden gate; while Rover at the 
first cadence of Black Beauty’s measured trot, bounded 
down the sloping greensward, and hearing his master’s 
greeting whistle, tried once and again to leap upon his 
horse, and welcome him there. But on Black Beauty 
bore his rider, till he sprang from the saddle to meet 
his mother’s kiss and tear of welcome, and fold his 
sister to his heart; while Black Beauty stood unheld 
beside him, looking on, as if with sympathizing feel- 
ings. 

It was finally decided by force of William’s and Joe’s 
persuasions, that as there was yet a fortnight at least 


490 


MINISTERING- CHILDREN. 


before harvest, Farmer and Mrs. Smith should accom- 
pany Joe and Ted on their return to London, to have 
the satisfaction of seeing Ted’s captain and ship, and for 
their own refreshment and interest; while William and 
Rose kept the farm and house at home. So they went 
up accordingly, Ted in high spirits at the prospect be- 
fore him, with William’s full approval at the attainments 
he had made ; and neither father nor mother harassed 
by any home anxieties to lessen the pleasure of their 
visit. The novelty of the complete change was very 
beneficial to both Farmer and Mrs. Smith. They were 
most kindly entertained by their children’s friends ; the 
old merchant receiving them at his country-house to 
dinner, and promising Mrs. Smith the first opportunity 
that offered to come down and spend a day or two at 
the farm, adding that he should take care to bring her 
son Joseph with him ; for he was quite sure he was a 
son that never went down to his home without a wel 
come for himself and all he took with him ! Mrs. Smith 
confessed that London was not so bad as she expected, 
and might do very well for people not used to the coun- 
try. Joe insisted on paying all the expenses of the visit, 
which he said was a pleasure his labor had earned ; and 
that having bought back Black Beauty, had his parents 
in London, and obtained a place on shipboard for Ted, he 
should begin life again with fresh spirit, but with, he 
still hoped, the same principles. Ted was left with Joe 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


491 


and Samson, ready to take his place on board ship as 
soon as necessary; and Farmer and Mrs. Smith return- 
ed, greatly refreshed and benefited by the inspiriting 
change. 

On the evening of the day after their return, William 
asked both his father and mother to take a walk across 
the farm with him and Rose, to which they agreed and 
started ; but Rose seemed to find it difficult to keep their 
meditative pace; while William, with gravest compo- 
sure, walked and talked at their side. Rose was always 
before them, so leading the way, till at last they came 
in sight of the two white little cottages with gardens 
stretching at either end, built by Farmer Smith’s mother, 
and lost by him through means of the only loan he ever 
borrowed. Rose still led the way, till her parents had 
nearly reached them, then turning round, she looked all 
expectation at William. 

“O you secret-keeper!” said he, “you would tell it 
twenty times over! I shall know how to trust you 
again.” 

“Why, Will, I never said a word!” replied Rose, 
coming to his side. 

“No, nor much need you should!” he answer- 
ed, smiling. And then turning to his father, he 
said : 

“ There, father ; it was grandmother’s cottages kept 
me this last year in London.” 


492 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

“ Your grandmother’s cottages ! What do you 
mean ?” 

“Because, father, when I went away from home, I 
came the last thing and looked at them, and I resolved 
I never would leave business in London, if I could help 
it, till I had bought them back for you. I got put 
from it twice, with getting Joe up and Samson ; but I 
kept on at my aim. Joe and I shared one room as we 
did at home ; and no one would have believed, perhaps, 
for how little we managed ; but I found last year 
the man had no mind to part with them, and I was 
forced to offer a higher sum than I had by me, so the 
purchase was fixed for this year, and I stayed on to 
earn it. And now, mother, if farming quite fails, there’s 
a cottage rent free for you and father and Rose, and 
another beside it for me ; and my hands will be able, I 
should hope, with God’s blessing, to earn bread for 
us all. They are bought in father’s name, and are 
as much his as they ever were. I knew that was the 
best sheaf I could reap and bring home for him and 
for you.” 

This was true; no earthly gift could perhaps have 
so met and gratified Farmer Smith. His mother’s 
cottages, left to him by will, lost by debt, and now 
restored by his son, effacing the memoiy of the 
loss to him so painful, were a treasured possession 
indeed ! 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


493 


u There’s a refuge then, at least now, mother,” said 
William, as his mother turned silently to take his arm 
home. 

“Yes, Will, my son’s refuge for me on earth, and, I 
trust, my Saviour’s in heaven.” 

So William returned to his home and began life as a 
farmer again. 


494 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 

God setteth the solitary in families. — Psalm lxviii, 6. 

For with the same measure that ye mete withal, it shall be 
measured to you again. — Luke vi, 38. 

The sun rose bright one summer morning over the 
misty village ; over the Hall, with its long verdant slopes 
iind spreading woods ; over the farm, with its barns, and 
stacks, and sleeping cattle ; over the lonely cottage of 
Jem, where fruitfulness and luxuriance in trees, and 
vegetables, and flowers, bore witness to “the hand of 
the diligent which maketh rich.” The village was still 
asleep, but Jem was in his garden, “tighting it up,” as 
he called it, though all looked tight enough ; and neither 
leaf nor petal, tree nor flower, seemed there, on that bright 
morning, to show one trace of earth’s decay. 

Jem was not watching the sun to tell the time at 
which to start off to tend his sheep ; this was no day of 
pastoral work for Jem, but a day of rest, and gladness, 
and blessing. It was the weiding-day of honest, faith- 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 495 

ful Jem. Nearly two years lie had held his new abode ; 
his mother grew more feeble with advancing age ; and 
Jem thought to add comfort to her life, as well as his 
own, by the event of that day. So thought Jem’s aged 
mother also ; and when the sun sent his first golden 
beam through her lattice-window on that bright morn- 
ing, she had left her pillow, and was preparing to put 
all things “straight” within doors; and all the while 
she stirred about with her best strength, she said within 
herself, “ How tight and clean she will keep all when 
she takes charge ! I know she will, and comfort me too, 
and learn me a deal more of heavenly things than I 
can come at now.” 

At the Hall, Mercy was up before the lark had risen 
to chant his first glad song at heaven’s gate ; and now 
she hastened down the misty road, with her bridemaid’s 
attire in a handkerchief on her arm, to help her grand- 
mother put all things straight, and then to hasten on to 
stand beside the bride. 

Mrs. Smith might have been up since midnight, for 
all the sun could tell when he first looked across the 
farm, and glanced in radiance through its uncurtained 
window panes. Rose was moving, working, speaking, 
as quick again as usual ; as if all the labor of that day 
had to be completed before the day had well begun. 
Farmer Smith was out^n the freshening morning air, 
giving directions to his men ; and William was helping 


496 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


the yard-boy sweep the garden walks, and the path down 
the sloping greensward. And where was Patience? 
the faithful servant always at hand when work was to 
be done ; the faithful servant through years of trial, sor- 
row, peace; where was Patience? Kneeling alone in 
her chamber, looking up through its small window to 
the rosy sky above her head, thinking on the past, the 
present, and the future, till tears overflowed her eyes, 
and she hid her face and wept; then enshrining all 
her thoughts and feelings in one fervent thanksgiving 
and prayer, she went down to the family below. This 
was her wedding-day, and she the affianced bride of 
Jem. 

“ There now, child, we don’t want you standing about 
in the way !” exclaimed Mrs. Smith as she saw Patience 
looking on, at a loss how to act without being told. 
“ Go and be after anything you may want to get done,” 
added Mrs. Smith. So Patience had her time to 
herself. Rose at last went to put on her bridesmaid’s 
dress ; and Mercy came down to the farm in hers, and 
she dressed the bride. And William put on his Sunday 
suit, for he was to walk by the side of the bride, and 
give her away in the church ; for she had no relative on 
earth to stand beside her there. But before they set 
out, Mrs. Smith said to Patience alone : “ Patience, girl, 
I know they say black should never be worn at a wed- 
ding; but you won’t be again^ my wearing that black 


HONEST JEM'S WEDDING. 


497 


silk, as I always do on Sundays, for the sake of little 
Tim ? Not but what I know his robes are as white as 
the driven snow ; but I did not like for myself any other 
color in silk, and, being for him, it could not tell of any 
evil to come. I know you won’t mind ; but I thought 
I would just name it beforehand.” 

Patience answered with a tear; for she too had been 
thinking of the child, and how he had been her little 
comforter there, and how he loved Jem ; and she could 
not help wishing he could be with them then, though 
still she knew it was better to have entered heaven, safe 
from all changes, and sorrow, and sin. 

Widow Jones did not go to the church ; nor would 
she consent to lock up the cottage and come to the 
wedding feast at the farm. She said she was wanted 
“ to keep things straight at home.” Whether she knew 
some mischievous spider to be lurking in some hole or 
corner, all ready to disfigure the pattern of neatness she 
finished off within; or whether she wished to be there to 
give Jem and his bride her motherly greeting at the 
threshold of their home, she did not say. The only 
reason she gave was the “keeping things straight;” and 
this one word “straight,” with Widow Jones, admitted 
a meaning so full, and application so endless, that it 
often might baffle the learning of most to discover the 
precise point she had in view under this word of a 
use universal. And it proved well that Widow Jones 


498 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


did keep lier resolve to “ bide in tbe house 5” for reasons 
far more important than keeping dust and spiders at a 
distance, with apron or broom. 

A dependable man and boy were in waiting at the 
farm ; and no sooner was the bridal party off for the 
church, than Mrs. Smith said to her husband, “Now 
don’t lose a minute, for things are quicker done than 
you would think for, and they will be back in no time.” 
So saying, Mrs. Smith hastened off with Farmer Smith, 
and the dependable man and boy, to the further barn, 
where the wedding gifts had been placed in readiness 
by William that morning. Mrs. Smith looked upon 
them with fresh satisfaction. She had said, “The 
girl has served me like a child, and she shall not be 
sent away like a stranger.” 

And no one who looked into the barn that morning 
could doubt Mrs. Smith having kept her resolve. First 
stood the gift of her mistress to Patience, the prettiest 
of young cows, as black as a raven’s wing, with one star 
of white on its broad forehead. Rose had named it 
“ Black Beauty,” after the favorite horse. Mrs. Smith 
said, that as a bit of meadow-land went with the cottage, 
there could be no reason why Patience should not have 
a cow of her own, and sell milk to the poor, which was 
a thing, Mrs. Smith said, that wanted to be more done 
than it was. She was thankful that, for her part, she 
could say, that never, with her knowledge, had the poor 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 499 

been sent away with an empty can, when they came up 
to buy a little milk for their families. Mrs. Smith knew 
how to give generously, when she did give ; and beside 
the young cow stood a new milk-pail, two milk- pans, a 
cream-pot, and skimmer; all these were the wedding gifts 
of her mistress to Patience. But then Patience had 
been no common servant; the nurse and comforter of 
little Tim, her mistress’s own devoted nurse, when infec- 
tion and death were near, and in her service faithful in 
all things. This had Patience been, and her mistress 
was resolved to testify her sense of it. Next stood the 
gift of Rose to Patience : a pair of hens of perfect white- 
ness, with a black cock, all reared on the farm. The 
fowls were in a basket, chiefly constructed by the hands 
of the sailor boy. Ilis mother bestowed it on Patience, 
having another of a different kind herself ; for she said 
that to leave her sailor boy out, would look as if he were 
no longer one of themselves. In a corner of the barn 
a little black pig was inclosed, waiting for his removal 
to fresh quarters ; this was Farmer Smith’s gift to his 
servant Jem. Added to these was a new barrow, made 
at the village wheelwright’s, a famous substitute for the 
one that Jem had used from a child, and which the 
largest nails would now hardly avail to hold together : 
this was William’s present to his favorite farm-servant. 
But these were not all. Mrs. Smith had a maxim 
which she often used, applying it variously as occasion 
32 


500 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


served, and this was the maxim : “ There’s no good in 
remembering one to forget another.” 

Accordingly, Mrs. Smith said she was not going to 
overlook Jem, as if she had altogether forgotten the 
value to be set by his services. What she had saved by 
his care in eggs and young fowls, when he was yard- 
boy, she said she knew pretty well by the loss when his 
master took him away to make him a shepherd : she 
had never been able to get up, or keep, such a poultry- 
yard since. But Jem should see his mistress had not 
forgotten him ! And there, in demonstration of the fact, 
stood a small box, containing household linen, all bleach- 
ed and made by Mrs. Smith. In this same box was a 
shawl from Samson, chosen and bought by him in his 
uncle’s shop, and sent down from London for Patience. 
While, from all the great city could offer, Joe had 
chosen for Jem an engraving of the Good Shepherd, 
with the sheep gathered near him, when he said to 
Peter, “ Feed my lambs and having it put in a frame, 
with a glass before it, Joe sent it down to gleam from 
the cottage walls of the village shepherd, with its light 
of holy and blessed remembrance. 

No sooner did Mrs. Smith, with hasty step, arrive at 
the barn than the whole array of gifts began to receive 
their dismissal. Farmer Smith haltered the young cow, 
and led her himself; while a tumbril received all the 
rest, as nicely adjusted as the case admitted of, the boy 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 


501 


down in the midst, securing the little black pig, the box in 
the barrow, and the fowls on the top gf the box, while the 
milk-pail, with its bright rims, the dairy pans, cream-pot, 
and skimmer, were all settled in, and the tumbril drove off. 

Farmer Smith arrived first, with the young black cow. 
Widow Jones, in the midst of her business within, was 
still looking from time to time from the window, to see 
what might be happening without. And now she saw 
Farmer Smith at the stile with the cow. 

“ Why, if there isn’t our master himself, and that 
handsome black heifer!” said Widow Jones, with sur- 
prise; and making haste from the door, she got down 
to the stile just as Farmer Smith had succeeded in re- 
moving it to lead in the cow. 

“ Well, neighbor,” said kind Farmer Smith, in his 
most cheerful, pleasantest tone, which tone always rose 
up as by instinct when his words had to do with a gift 
or any token of good-will ; “ Well, neighbor, I am sure 
I wish you joy of to-day ; though you will just please 
to remember that you are growing rich by making us 
poorer! I don’t mean because the black heifer is to 
stay as yours, instead of ours ; no, I don’t mean it of 
anything money could have bought, but of her who’s 
your daughter by this time, if the minister kept to his 
hour at the church. I made her servant-girl to my 
wife, who must choose for herself now ; for T am sure I 
can’t hope to please her so well any more.” 


502 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Widow Jones stood in silent surprise. The black 
heifer for them ! .Could it possibly be, that Farmer 
Smith had led down the handsomest of all his young 
cows for her children ? 

“Come, then,” said Farmer Smith, “there’s plenty 
more things on the way; let’s make one safe at a time. 
You tell Patience her mistress has sent her this cow, 
with her love and her blessing ; and there’s a milk-pail 
and pans, and a •cream-pot and skimmer, that Patience 
may sell milk to the poor ; for it’s a fact in this village, 
that the poor often don’t know how to get half a pint, 
and I wish that some one would name it to the squire, 
that he might just speak to his tenants about it.” 

O, with what wondering eyes of delight and of joy 
poor old Widow Jones looked on, while her master, as 
she always called Farmer Smith, led up the black heifer, 
and made her fast in the warmly-thatched shed ! But 
there was no time allowed for expressing her feeling. 
Farmer Smith hastened back to the stile, where the 
tumbril was waiting, and Widow Jones hastened after, 
and then she stood by while its stores were unloaded. 
Out tumbled the little black pig, and the boy jumped 
down just in time to secure him ; then the milk-pail and 
milk-pans, the cream-pot and skimmer; the box, tied 
round with a cord and directed ; the handsome white 
and black fowls ; and, last of all, the new barrow for 
Jem. 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 


503 


Farmer Smith gave the messages, one by one, to 
Widow Jones, who stood listening beside him, in the 
midst of the things. There she stood, in her short- 
sleeved, half-length, large-flowered, print gown, bought 
new for the wedding occasion, and put on first by her 
that day, her snow-white kerchief beneath it, with its 
thick folds in front, and her single-crimped border cap, 
with a scarlet ribbon pinned round it, saving all need of’ 
strings, and her white apron tied on, all ready for what- 
ever on that summer day might befall ; there she stood, 
wiping away with the corner of her apron her fast-start- 
in cr tears, as she listened to Farmer Smith, and looked 
on the gifts, all telling the praises, so sweet to her, of her 
Jem and his bride ! 

“ The box,” said Farmer Smith, “ will speak for itself 
when it’s opened, which need not be done till your chil- 
dren return. The fowls are from Rose, her present to 
Patience. My wife says Patience will know who made 
the basket, and she is to keep it for our poor sailor boy’s 
sake. My son William had the barrow made on pur- 
pose for Jem. He says Jem is not to think too much 
about him in the gift; for he had it made as much in 
remembrance of our poor little Tim, who always took 
such a fancy to Jem : my son had a wish that Jem 
should have something to serve him through life, in 
remembrance of the child. But I must be off, for my 
wife entirely set her mind on my being back, and know* 


504 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


ing tbe things safe here, before they returned from the 
church.” 

So Farmer Smith saw the little black pig secure in 
the sty; and then, leaving the man and the boy to 
help in with the rest, he hastened back again to the farm. 

Mrs. Smith was impatiently waiting her husband’s 
return, and losing more time by her looks from window 
and door than she gained by her haste in all things be- 
sides. But now seeing him ascending the hill she was 
satisfied ; she heard of the safe bestowment of all, the 
messages delivered as she had given them in charge ; 
and then bringing out Farmer Smith’s Sunday coat, she 
waited in something more like quiet expectation for the 
bridal party’s return from the church. 

And now, in the distance, the party came in sight. 
Jem led his bride, Rose and Mercy followed after, and 
William beside them. Mrs. Smith gave one hasty 
glance into her parlor to be assured all was right there, 
then hastened to the door-step to receive them. Farmer 
Smith held open the small garden-gate, and gave them 
his hand, and blessed them as they entered, then smiled 
on Rose and Mercy, and shut the gate after them all. 
There stood Mrs. Smith in her Sunday gown of black 
silk, upright on the door-step, but when Jem led up his 
bride, she stooped her tall figure, and kissed the cheek 
of Patience, and led her in heioeif as with a mother’s 
feeling. The water was boiling, so the tea was soon 


HONEST JEM’S WEBJJlNG. 


505 


made ; the coffee was ready beforehand ; and full of 
gentlest cheerfulness, they all sat down to the wedding 
breakfast. Mrs. Smith poured out the tea, and Rose the 
coffee. Jem and his bride sat on one side of the table, 
and Mercy between Farmer Smith and William on the 
other. No pains had been spared in preparing the feast : a 
plum-cake, black with richness, was placed in the center, 
it was not frosted over with snow, which the art of con- 
fectioners alone can accomplish ; such borrowed skill was 
not needed at this wedding-feast, nor would Mrs. Smith 
have seen the merit of crusting a cake with a coating of 
ice for a table, round which only affection could gather. 
Ornaments they had, nature’s own, and not wanting in 
taste of arrangement. Rose had gathered white lilies, and 
laid them all over and in a circle round the large cake 
which her mother had made; and strewn on the white 
table-cloth in long, winding lines, lay the flowers of the 
season reposing, while round the plate of the bridegroom 
and bride bloomed a circle of nothing but heart’s-ease. 
Among the frail flowers stood the solid mass of the dishes, 
a great pie filled with rabbits, a ham dressed for the oc- 
casion, a fresh cut cheese from the dairy, with butter 
made into swans that floated in a lake of water, or 
reposed on green borders of parsley. Each corner dish 
was a large shining loaf, with a circle of smallest loaves 
in the plate round it. Cakes of every description, all 
home-made, with fruits from the garden, while the faces 


506 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


around looked down on those smiling flowers, and 
the fingers of tenderest care still on all sides 
removed them, when any change of the dishes might 
have pressed on their forms ; for the recklessness that can 
gather together the fairest flowers of the earth, to please 
the eye of those who will take no care to preserve their 
frail heaven-given loveliness, is not found in the poor 
man’s home, nor in the dwellings of those who sow and 
reap the ground. 

Meanwhile, at the cottage, Widow Jones had scarcely 
marked the progress of time, intent on the % interest of her 
newly arrived charge. “ Pretty creatures,” said Widow 
Jones; “sure enough I must find them some food.” So 
stooping down her aged figure, she cut up some grass 
and mixed it with such leaves as a cow, she well knew, 
would like, and then strewed it before the black heifer, 
who licked the old woman’s hand before feeding, as she 
used to do the hand of Pawnee, who had brought her 
up from a calf; then, having no corn of any description, 
Widow Jones crumbled up a small piece of bread for 
the fowls, though she said, as she showered it over them, 
that it would have been a shame on any other day to 
give them such food. And, finally, she cut up a few 
vegetables for the pig. The creatures all liking their 
food, and the notice bestowed on them in their strange 
quarters, called after the dear old woman, till she heard 
such a lowing and cackling, and grunting, that she 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 507 


hastened back to see after them again; but at last, 
quite fatigued, she told them all gravely, that they must 
think she had something else to do than to see after them ; 
and having ventured so far in a reproof of their perse- 
vering demands, she returned to the house, and putting 
the small kettle on the little back-kitchen fire, made 
herself a quiet cup of tea, which greatly refreshed her ; 
so much so, that after the toil and excitement of the 
morning she at last fell asleep in her arm-chair. She 
slept quietly there for some half hour or more, when a 
sudden sharp tap at the door aroused her. “ They 
are come,” thought Widow Jones, as she started up from 
sleep ; but no, it was not her son who opened the door 
and looked in , it was a stranger. “ Is this Roode’s plot?” 
asked the man. 

“ Yes,” replied Widow Jones, rather in alarm at the 
sight of the stranger. 

“ I suppose you are the mother of the man who lives 
here ?” 

“Yes,” said Widow Jones, still more uneasy. 

“ Then you will please to give your son that letter, 
from Madam Clifford at the Hall ; and be so good as to 
show us where to set up this eight-day clock !” 

Widow Jones looked out, and there, at the stile, 
stood a light cart, with another man in it, and the eight- 
day clock. But before she had time to consider, the 
men were in with the clock, and soon fixed on the best 


508 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


place to put it in themselves; and, finding the old 
woman had no objection to their choice of situation, they 
set it up at once, observing, as they did so, that it was 
one of the best time-keepers ever put together ; and be- 
fore Widow Jones had recovered enough from her sur- 
prise to do more than look at the outside of the letter 
in her hand, from that to the clock, and then back again 
to the sealed letter, the men were gone, and the cart, 
and all out of sight like a dream, except that there stood 
the clock, ticking each moment of time, and over the 
bright hands at the top of the face, a colored picture of 
a shepherd lad with a lamb on one arm, and his sheep 
feeding at his feet. It was well Widow Jones had had 
her cup of tea and her refreshing sleep, for most surely 
neither would have been thought of after the arrival of the 
clock. “ Then it’s from madam herself, for my Jem on 
his wedding-day,” at last said Widow Jones, as she once 
more looked at the letter. “ Well,” she added, “ if all 
this is not wonderful, I don’t know what is !” and lifting 
a thankful look upward, old Widow Jones sat down 
again in her arm-chair, to consider all things over 
before her children’s arrival. 

But when Patience, at the farm, at last turned to 
take leave, Mrs. Smith’s pleasant smile was gone, her 
lip quivered, and her strong, firm voice faltered. Pa- 
tience could not tell her own feeling in words, but none 
needed to hear it spoken ; her years of faithful service 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 


509 


left no doubt of that. The moments passed, and the 
maid and her mistress had parted, the record of her 
years in that place of service was finished, and nothing 
of the past could be altered. How often does that 
solemn moment come and go unheeded, a service ended, 
a place left, and the past is supposed to be done with ; 
but the record of that past, what is written there? 
That moment of parting has sealed it, and it lies from 
that time in the hand of the Judge, till the day that 
bringeth all secret things to light must see it unfolded. 
In the hands of the Judge lie the records of the past 
years of all ; and not one created being can unfold or 
read them, still less alter a single word they contain. But 
there is One, and only One, to whom they still lie open, 
even Jesus, the Saviour of sinners ; an earnest prayer to 
him may still avail to get all the handwriting against 
us blotted out in his blood ; only let us not go thought- 
lessly forward, as if those records of the past contained 
no sentence against us ! For Patience the record was 
blessed ; and she knew the secret of prayer to that 
Saviour, whose blood cleanseth from all sin, blotteth out 
all his people’s transgression, and maketh their imper- 
fection perfect. So Patience had parted in peace, 
beneath the blessing of heaven and of earth, and was now 
descending the hill. Mrs. Smith waited a few moments, 
looking out of the window, in the effort to recover com- 
posure ; then turning to Rose, who was watching beside 


510 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


her, she said, “ I wish you would run after Patience 
with that,” taking a book done up in paper from her 
pocket ; “ you know what it is ; I did not feel able to 
speak about it when she went, as I meant to have done. 
You can tell her it is for the sake of little Tim.” Rose 
took the book, and her swift steps soon overtook Pa- 
tience, who, leaning on Jem, was ascending the opposite 
hill. “ Patience, mother sends you this ; it’s a book of 
family prayer, like the one my aunt gave her ; she 
wishes you to keep it for the sake of little Tim ; she 
meant to have given it to you herself, only she was so 
overcome at your going.” Patience took the small 
parcel, and looking back at the farm, sent a message by 
Rose of her duty and her thanks to her mistress, with 
the assurance that they would take it into use every 
day. 

Mercy stayed at the farm to assist Mrs. Smith and 
Rose in the clearing away, and to make things more 
cheerful there, where she was a favorite with all. And 
now at length Widow Jones, looking out from above the 
bright geraniums in the window, saw Jem and his bride 
at the stile. Then she opened wide the cottage door, 
and stood just within where the sheltering vine on one 
side, and the drooping honeysuckle on the other, softly 
shaded the view of her now feeble figure. Patience 
walked up the path first, and Jem followed close after; 
and the old woman stretched out both her arms and 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 


511 


clasped them round Patience, and Patience threw hers 
round the old woman’s neck, and felt, for the first time 
in life, that she too had a mother. Then as Patience 
unlocked that close embrace, the old woman, turning 
to her son, said, “ God bless you, my Jem, and bless us 
all here together, for I am sure ’tis his goodness that 
brings such things to pass ;” and Jem looked on as if he 
felt the sight he then saw was the best sight of all. 
But just then, Jem started and stared, for a loud strik- 
ing clock told the hour, with a slow, decided call upon 
the attention of all. 

“ Why, mother, a clock ! where did it come from ?” 

“ Ah ! never mind that,” replied Widow Jones ; “look 
here in this drawer, here’s a letter in Madam Clifford’s 
own hand ; if that don’t tell you all about it, I am sure 
that I can’t.” 

Jem took up the letter. 

“ But now, child, come, sit down,” said the old woman, 
turning to Patience. “ Why, to think that you have 
never been inside the door, and yet all these months you 
have known the place was just waiting for you.” 

Jem had opened the letter; but finding it not easy to 
read in a moment of time, he folded it up for a better 
opportunity, and turned again to his bride; and then 
leaning on the back of her chair, told his aged mother, 
who was seated before him, of the feast their good mis- 
tress had made at the farm, while Patience held closely 


512 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


that treasured book of prayer, and looked round on her 
new abode. What comfort beamed upon her from 
every corner; and there lay the large Bible, dear old 
Willy’s own Bible, of which Jem had so often told her. 
She longed to look on its pages where the old man had 
read, but she said nothing then ; and Jem seemed to 
wish to give her time to look round ; and poor, old 
Widow Jones looked so happy on the two, that she 
seemed in no hurry either to move or to speak. 

“Well,” at last Jem asked, with his own cheerful 
smile, “ do you think it looks anything like what you 
fancied, and as if you could content yourself here ?” 

“Not like what I fancied,” said Patience, looking up; 
“ you never told me how beautiful it all was inside ; I 
never saw such a home as it is for any like us.” 

“ Ah, that was all our young squire’s doing,” said 
Jem, “ and I don’t know, but somehow a blessing seems 
to bide with it all, for it always looks as beautiful and 
cheerful as can be, just as you see it look now.” 

“ But what a clock that is,” said Patience ; “ do you 
see that shepherd with the lamb in his arms? and the 
clock is so like ours at the farm, it seems quite natural 
to look at it.” 

“ Yes,” replied Jem, “ I never was more taken by sur- 
prise in my life than when it set up striking just as we 
had come in at the door; it seemed as if it must have a 
word to say to us also; but I don’t seem to have 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 513 

thought about it yet. I can’t think,” added Jem, “ what 
that kind of grunting is I hear; I could almost have 
thought my poor little pig that I lost had come to life 
again, to welcome you here.” 

Then old Widow Jones rose up from her chair, and 
said : “ I advise you to go and see what it is, and settle 
your mind about it at once.” So Jem opened the door 
•into the back kitchen, when a loud, shrill crow from a 
cock burst on the ear of Patience. 

“ You come and all,” said Jem to Patience, who hast- 
ened after him, the aged mother following, to the pig- 
sty ; there looked up the little black pig, grunting 
eagerly again as if quite sure now of a feast ; and then 
turning away from Jem and Patience, looked up at 
Widow Jones, as soon as she, his kind feeder, arrived at 
the sty. 

“ Why, mother, what a beauty of a pig !” exclaimed 
Jem ; “ however in the world did you get it ? Why, it’s 
just like one' of master’s at the farm.” 

“ I am not going to tell you everything in a moment,” 
said Widow Jones, decidedly; while the cock, at the 
sound of pleasant voices, crowed forth a further an- 
nouncement of his presence on the premises. Jem 
stepped on to the shed and opened the door ; then hold- 
ing it back, said in amaze: “ Patience, .only you look in 
here!” Patience looked in; there stood the black 
heifer, who at the sight of r%tience pulled hard at the 


514 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


rope, by which she was tied, to get to her side ; there 
stood the new barrow ; the hens and the cock, in the 
basket made by the sailor boy Ted. “ Now, you just 
listen,” said Widow Jones, “ and I’ll tell you all.” 
So Jem stood there and listened, still all in amaze, and 
Patience beside him, while the black heifer was happy 
with her hand, which it licked on both sides. 

“I was here in the house then,” said Widow Jones,. 
“ keeping all straight within, when who should I see 
but our master leading up the young cow. Out I went; 
and he told me he had brought it from our mistress, 
a present for Patience, for her very own ; and he said 
she was to have it and sell milk to the poor ; and it 
seemed to me wholly a beautiful thing, that she who 
had been altogether a comfort up there, should come 
here to a home and sell milk to the poor! But that 
was just what our master said ; and if you will believe, 
there’s the whole concern for the milking come too. It’s 
all set out in the dairy ; just you come and look.” Back 
Widow Jones hurried, and Patience and Jem followed 
after, to see the milk-pail with, its bright rims, the milk- 
pans, and cream-pot, and skimmer, all set out in the 
dairy. Then, returning again, Widow Jones went on 
to tell all the history, not shortened the least by her 
remarks in between the matters of fact that she had to 
relate ; how the fowls were from Rose ; the basket the 
sailor boy’s work, and alt that their master had said 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 


515 


about it; and the barrow for Jem, to serve him for life 
in remembrance of the love of little Tim. Then followed 
the box and all its contents, quite new to Widow Jones; 
the house linen, the shawl, and the picture ; till Patience 
could bear up no longer against such tokens of affection 
and kindness, and, tying on her bonnet, she said, “I 
tell you what, Jem, before ever we do anything more I 
must go down to the farm, and you with me, and speak 
about what we found here.” So Patience and Jem 
returned again to the farm ; and going in by the back 
door, found Mrs. Smith still busy clearing away. Patience 
sat down on the low-backed kitchen chair, where she sat 
in tears the day little Tim first took notice of her ; she 
could not now speak a word, but, quite overcome, she 
hid her face and wept, while Jem stood silent beside 
her. “Why, Patience, child !” said Mrs. Smith, stopping 
short with a cloth in her hand, with which she was rub- 
bing up the tankard. “ Come back so soon ! why, 
child, what’s the matter?” 

“It’s only your goodness, and master’s too,” said 
Jem ; “indeed, it’s all over too much for us both.” 

“ Well, now, if that’s all,” replied Mrs. Smith, “ you 
have done and said quite enough, so never let me hear 
another word about that, nor your master either; here 
he is close by to say the same.” 

“But the black heifer,” said Patience without look- 
ing up ; “ I am sure I never could have thought it ! I 
33 


516 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


thought I was leaving all the creatures behind, and 
then, when I got up there, why they seemed all up there 
before me.” 

“ And where could they have been better, child, I 
should like to know ?” replied Mrs. Smith. “ Haven’t 
you and Jem just tended them all with that care that 
nothing seemed to be lost that was under your hand ? 
You know that very well ; and though it’s just what 
every one who has a right principle would do, yet I was 
not going to seem as if I did not know r it, for I did, and 
your master no less. And I do say, if there’s one in the 
village who has more of a right than another to sell 
milk for the poor, it’s just you and Jem. I know I 
always have taken a pleasure in that, and I am pretty 
sure you will no less ; and such a fancy as we all had 
for the black heifer, what could we wish better for her 
than to live for serving the poor with her milk ! Why 
I am sure* I little thought you would not get over the 
day without being down here again. But it’s just your 
way for all that, and you may be sure I shall soon 
come up and look after you ; so not a word more about 
anything ; you remember, I have said it !” and with that 
Mrs. Smith made an end of her reply. 

And now in looked Rose and Mercy, both ready for a 
walk, all surprise at sight of Patience and Jem. 

“ Why here’s Rose and Mercy coming off up to you, 
and you not at home to receive them. There now, bo 


HONEST JEM'S WEDDING. 


517 


satisfied, and don’t shed another tear over that which 
comes only as a blessing !” said Mrs. Smith ; and then 
adding, “ Good-by to you, my good girl ; I don’t think 
any the worse of you for coming so quick down and 
with fresh and livelier parting words than before, Pa- 
tience again hastened back to her cottage-home with 
Jem. 

The good mother had set out the tea all in readiness; 
the picture of comfort. Rose and Mercy followed after, 
Rose bearing the round wedding-cake, her mother’s own 
making; and Mercy carrying all the white lilies in an 
open farm-basket on her arm, and a nosegay of the 
flowers in her hand. The cake was set down in the 
middle of the table, and Rose would do and look at 
nothing till she had covered it again with its lilies, to 
the admiration and delight of Widow Jones. Then 
visiting all the creatures with Patience and Mercy and 
Jem, she hastened back again to the farm ; while Jem 
and his bride, and his mother and Mercy sat down at 
the round cottage table. Then Mrs. Clifford’s letter was 
brought out again ; and Mercy knew her mistress’s 
hand- writing, and was able to read it every word to the 
pleasure of the whole party. 

Now Jem began to consider how he could get his 
duty and his thanks to Madam Clifford ; he consulted 
with Mercy whether she thought he might make bold 
and step up that evening and ask to speak to the young 


518 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


squire ; or whether he ought to wait till the next day. 
Jem’s grateful heart did not like to pass the day over 
without offering his thanks; he was dressed also in his 
best, which seemed suitable for going up to the Hall on 
such an occasion ; but still more than this, Jem had 
a feeling of not liking to pass his wedding-day over with- 
out so much as a sight of the young squire : he seemed 
to think that all could not go so well with him if he 
went over the day without a sight of him ; so it was de- 
cided that after tea he should walk up. But while they 
'were still seated round at the table, (the cottage door 
wide open,) in that summer afternoon, and Jem seated 
in full view of the road, he suddenly started up, saying, 
“There’s our young squire himself at the stile !” So Jem 
hastened out; there Herbert stood, with a noble dog 
waiting beside him. “ Well, Jem,” said • the young 
squire, “I could not be the only one not to wish you well 
in a friendly greeting to-day, so I walked down this way, 
expecting now I should find you at home.” Then Jem 
sent his best message of duty and gratitude to Madam 
Clifford for the handsomest clock, Jem said, he ever had 
seen. And he asked the young squire if he would 
please to walk in and see how it stood. Herbert went 
in with Jem, and there he saw that dwelling of comfort 
and peace ; the tall clock with the shepherd lad and the 
young lamb on his arm painted on it; the lily-covered 
cake ; the aged mother in her new array ; and Patience 


HONEST JEM’S WEDDING. 


519 ' 


and Mercy beside her. The young squire sat down, and 
the dog sat at his feet and looked up in his face. Then 
Herbert said, “Jem, now you are a rich man, and 1 
thought you might manage to keep a good dog. I 
had this from some distance for you, the best of his 
kind, I believe ; he is a huge fellow, but he won’t cost 
you more, I fancy, than you will be willing to spend on 
him. "What do you say to having him for a helper ?” 

“Well, sir,” replied Jem, “to my thinking, he looks 
to have sense enough to keep sheep by himself!” 

At Jem’s wit they all laughed, and the young squire 
was quite satisfied ; but he said, “You must take a little 
notice of him at first, or I am afraid he will run off to 
me, for I have made a great favorite of him ; we must 
tie him up for to-night. And see here, I have brought 
a cord, for I remembered that you only engaged for 
a pair of hands, when I came to you supposing you 
furnished with ropes for drawing up the log from the 
ditch !” The young squire went with Jem to fasten up 
the dog, and then Jem showed him the presents received 
that day ; and to be able to show them to him seemed to 
double the joy Jem felt in them all : and if the black 
heifer was a treasure to Patience, what was not the noble 
shepherd’s dog to Jem, the young squire’s own gift! 
Then the squire heard how Patience was to sell milk to 
the poor, and this led him to inquire why there should 
be occasion for that; and then he found from Jem thai 


520 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


all the farmers made their milk into cheese, and so had 
none to sell, except Farmer Smith; and the squire made 
a note in his book of the fact, and remembered it in 
years to come. Then he left honest Jem with his bride 
and his mother in old Willy’s cottage, and returned to 
the Hall. 

After tea, while Patience and Mercy cleared away, 
Jem went after food for the creatures; he longed to 
take his dog with him, but he could not venture so 
soon. Then the sun went down in the sky; and when 
all the live creatures were provided for, before Mercy 
returned to the Hall, Jem opened old Willy’s Bible, 
and while they all sat around, he read the one hundred 
and third Psalm ; and then they knelt down, and he 
offered up the evening prayer from the book Mrs. Smith 
had given in remembrance of little Tim. And so closed 
that bright summer day. 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 


521 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE LADY GERTRUDE. 

When the ear heard, then it blessed me ; and when the eye saw, 
it gave witness to me : because I delivered the poor that cried, and 
the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing 
of him that was ready to perish came upon me : and I caused the 
widow’s heart to sing for joy. — Job xxix, 11-13. 

Soon after the young squire came of age, it was 
necessary to appoint a fresh steward for the estate on 
which he resided, to watch over and receive the rents of 
the farms, and for all such affairs as belong to the office 
of a farm steward. He had looked forward to this 
change, and made his own choice as to who should fill 
this office ; so important in the manner of its exercise to 
the comfort as well as to the integrity of those over whom 
the steward is appointed to watch. No sooner was the 
office vacant than William was sent for to the Hall ; and 
it was offered to him. ^Farmer Smith’s farm was not 
large, and it would be easy for William still to live with 
his parents, assist his father on the farm, and yet ac- 
complish all that this new employment would require 


522 


MINISTERING C III LI REN. 


of him ; while the yearly salary received would make 
the circumstances of his family all he could desire ; for 
it was only the difficulty of always being ready with his 
rent, that kept Farmer Smith’s mind harassed by his 
business. So William gratefully accepted th«* offer, and 
was appointed farm steward of the estate. 

A year passed peacefully over Patience in her new 
abode ; and when the summer came again, with its long 
days and refreshing fruits, she received a visit from her 
first master’s family. They all came over to spend a 
day, to the joy of Patience, and the delight of all the 
children, but especially of little Esther, who was left for a 
month’s visit with Patience, till she became so fond of all 
country sights and sounds, of the black cow, with its 
brimming pail of white-frothed milk, the poor women 
and children coming to buy of Patience, the white hens, 
and little chickens who flew upon her shoulders, the 
shepherd’s dog and the sheep, and even of. feeding the 
pig with all that Patience put by in a plate for its food, of 
vegetables and apple-peels, that she returned to her 
home in the town fully resolved on being a farm-house 
servant, and living with Mrs. Smith, if she would receive 
her when her age was sufficient. 

Mrs. Smith had had a trying year with servants; 
three times in the course of the year she had been 
obliged to make a change. She tried to be patient, 
and not to expect too much, but it was all of no use * 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 


523 


she said she found all the servant girls of one mind, 
and that was idleness and finery, instead of real honest 
work. So thoughtless girls came and left a situation, 
where Patience had stayed to earn the favor of all. 
Mrs. Smith was quite in despair, and said she saw no 
help for it but doing the work herself with Rose ; for 
such servants were more trial than all their service was 
worth. Patience often came down to the farm on 
baking days, or churning days, or washing days, and 
stayed for some hours to help ; and these were pleasant 
times both to her mistress and herself. One day while 
Patience was busy taking out the bread from the 
large brick oven at the farm, Mrs. Smith being then 
without a servant, a pleasant-looking woman came up 
to the door, and asked if Mrs. Smith was w r ithin. 

“Yes,” said Patience; and she went to let her 
mistress know. 

“ I dare say it’s only a girl after a place;” said Mrs. 
Smith. 

“No, she looks over age to be after that,” replied 
Patience. So Mrs. Smith came down, as soon as she 
was ready, to the back kitchen, where the young woman 
waited. Mrs. Smith looked at her for a moment 
as she stood there before her, then exclaimed, “Why, 
Molly ! is it you ?” 

“ Yes, that it is,” replied Molly. “I heard you were un- 
settled, and I thought perhaps you would not be against 


524 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


my coming back to you again, for I have never felt at 
home or stayed long in any place since I left you ; and 
I think if I could but get back here, I should feel settled 
again. I am sure I have often repented that I gave up 
as I did, instead of trying on a little longer ; but I hope 
I should be wiser for the future.” 

“Well, Molly,” said Mrs. Smith, “I always felt I 
was to blame for your leaving; but I hope things are 
better now, in some respects, than they were, though 
the child is gone. You know that, I suppose ?” 

“Yes,” replied Molly, “I vexed sadly for him. It 
cut me up more than anything to have left him ; but I 
hope it was all for the best for him, by what I heard” 

“Well, Molly, I know you, and you know the place, 
and if your mind is to come back, I am sure my mind 
is the same ; and your master’s I can answer for as well 
as my own, and therefore there’s no need to say any 
more words about it.” So Molly came back to the 
farm, a more patient servant, to find a more patient 
mistress ; and comfort was once more restored to Mrs. 
Smith’s household arrangements. 

Another pleasant event of this summer was the return 
of the sailor-boy from his first long voyage. Full of 
spirits and bodily vigor, sun-burned, and laden with his 
gifts of love, he came to gladden the hearts of all ; to 
shake heartily every friendly hand, and none were foes 
with him ; to visit every familiar spot ; to hold discourse 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 


with all the men of village-trade on the use he had 
made, or was likely to make, of their arts ; though he 
had yet known no shipwreck ; to learn again from the 
lips of the minister ; to tell him what he had seen, and 
heard, and done, and to listen to his advice for the fu- 
ture. He made no little stir both in the farm and vil- 
lage ; and then, having formed a strong friendship with 
Jem’s- noble dog, comforted his mother, and satisfied 
his father and William, he went off again, light and 
swift as a bird of passage, to be tossed once more on 
the free-crested waves. 

Another year passed by, and when the next autumn 
came, the young squire had completed his college life, 
and satisfied the best hopes of his boyhood’s tutor, and 
it was understood in th9 village that he was going 
abroad again with his mother. These tidings gave 
great disappointment to the hopes of those who had 
looked to the comfort of his residence among them ; but 
having assembled his tenantry, he told them that he 
believed his absence would not be for more than six 
months, and that then he hoped to return and live 
among them for the future. He had no sooner left, than 
repairs and alterations were begun at the Hall ; and the 
mansion, far from looking desolate and deserted as be- 
fore, was a scene of perpetual life and activity. 

Two years of undoubted comfort Patience had enjoyed 
in her cottage home. Jem’s aged mother, relieved from 


526 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


all care and toil, had regained fresh vigor and spirits ; 
she was always busy in little ways, always at hand, 
always reflecting the brightness of that bright cottage- 
home. But the winter of the squire’s absence proved a 
severe one, and the sudden cold seemed suddenly to 
snap the old woman’s feeble stem of life, and she laid 
down on her bed ta die ! Patience could not believe, 
when the doctor told her that her mother’s death was 
near. “ Why, it was but a week ago,” she said, “ my 
mother was up and as cheerful and well as ever I have 
known her to be.” 

The doctor replied, “ It might be so ; but her hours 
are numbered now.” 

Still Patience could not believe ; she thought it must 
be a sudden chill, and that warmth and care would re- 
store her. She lighted and kept up, day and night, a 
bright little fire in the small grate up stairs ; she made 
cordials, and Mrs. Smith came up more than once in the 
day ; but the old woman smiled on them, and said, “It’s 
just sweet to my old heart to feel you all bent to keep 
me still, if you could ; but I am going where I shall be 
far better off even than here, though my last days have 
been my best days.” 

Then, looking up at Patience, she said, “ You have 
just been my evening star, lighting me home ; for I 
have gathered more knowledge these two years with 
you, than I had in ray whole life before: let the thought 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 527 

of that comfort you as long as you live ! Jem, my son,” 
she added, turning to him, “you have been your 
mother’s staff all through the weariest of her way, which 
lay on this side your poor father’s grave. God grant 
your mother’s blessing may fall upon you in the hour 
of your need ! I know you will take care of Mercy ; 
she is not fit to stand in this rough world alone; it 
would soon break her down ; but the God of the orphan 
will not let his promise fail. It is not darkness to me ; 
the light that has but glimmered before me so long, 
shines all bright round me now ; and I hear the voice 
of Him who says, ‘ Come unto me, and I will give you 
rest.’ ” 

So the widow departed, and her children mourned for 
her. Mercy was far away with Mrs. Clifford in a foreign 
land ; but tears were shed for old Widow Jones by the 
eyes of those who owned no tie of kindred with her. The 
snow lay deep upon the ground, and Patience, ill from 
the anxiety of nursing, and the shock of so sudden a 
loss, having also her infant child to tend, was little fit 
to venture to the grave. Jem earnestly persuaded her 
not to go, but Patience would not be persuaded ; she 
said it was the only respect she could now show to one 
who had been all a mother could be to her ; and to 
have lost her so suddenly, was a trial she had never so 
much as thought upon. Jem gave way, and Patience 
followed their aged mother to the grave by his side. 


528 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


But she took cold, as might have been expected, and 
was soon confined to her bed. Rose now came and 
tended Patience and the infant, day by day, with gen- 
tlest care ; and Mrs. Smith was continually contriving in 
every way to minister to her comfort ; but, notwith- 
standing all this care, and Jem’s ceaseless anxiety, the 
spring was approaching before Patience was able to 
leave her bed, and sit down stairs in old Willy’s arm- 
chair. 

But the cheerful spring advanced, the frost gave way 
before the sun’s warm beams, the flowers raised their 
heads above their wintery graves, the birds looked down 
from tree and hedge, and sung a welcome to them ; new 
life and vigor came slowly back to Patience, and hope 
and comfort to the heart of Jem. Patience had not yet 
milked her cow since her illness, nor stood in her dairy 
to help the poor people who came, nor walked down 
once to the farm ; but the spring had set foot on the 
earth, and the earth was rejoicing at his presence, and 
Patience felt that her life was reviving. And now all 
her anxiety was to go to the church for the Sunday’s 
service; she said she knew when she had once been 
there she should seem to be well again, and able to milk 
her cow, and attend to all her home-work. But Jem 
was firm now; he had sorely repented having suffered 
Patience to attend their mother’s funeral, and he now 
was resolved to act prudently. At length, as May 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 


529 


was giving place to June, the veiy last Sunday in the 
month dawned as soft and lovely a day as the spring- 
time ever beheld. Jem could not refuse Patience her 
wish on such a day ; so, wrapped up and leaning on 
the arm of her husband, with steps more feeble than she 
had expected them to be, while Rose kept house with 
the infant in the cottage, Patience went to the afternoon 
service in the church. 

The minister, their own minister, preached a mission- 
ary sermon ; and when he told of the poor heathen 
without God, because without Christ, and therefore 
without hope in the world, Patience thought she could 
feel something of what it must be to live, and sicken, 
and die, without one glimpse of heaven, one hope of 
entering there ! She thought of her dying mother’s 
peace, she thought of her husband’s Christian life, she 
thought of their child baptized in her Saviour’s name, 
she thought of her own faith and hope ; and she longed 
to do something for the poor heathen, as a token of 
her thankfulness to God, and her pity for them. Bu^ 
what could she do? Their mother’s funeral, and the 
doctor’s long attendance on her, had taken all Jem’s 
savings. Jem’s last week’s wages were all spent on the 
Saturday except one shilling, which he had in his 
pocket, and that she would not ask him for, because 
perhaps he might be thinking of giving it himself. If 
Patience had known of the collection, she would hav 


530 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


tried to save something back for it on the Saturday ; but 
Jem had not told her ; most likely he had forgotten it 
himself. What could she do ? 

Patience had still one treasure, a possession in money 
that she always kept with her. She had kept it through 
want and distress, through trouble and sickness, through 
prosperity and comfort; she had thought to keep it 
through life, and that nothing would ever win it from 
her: it was the lady’s half-crown, the first gift she had 
ever received from the hand of love. Her first knowl- 
edge of tenderness was bound up with that gift; and 
she had kept it, as her treasured possession, through all 
her life’s changes. But now the call to part with it en- 
tered her heart; it seemed to come from heaven, and 
earth seemed to repeat the same call : “ Is it too much 
for you to give up, to send the name of your Saviour to 
those who never heard the blessed sound of pardon and 
heaven, through Jesus Christ?” Patience felt the ques- 
tion deep within her heart, and she resolved, “ No ; I 
will part with it for that !” But now a trial of her 
resolution came. Jem crossed from the men’s benches, 
after service, to her, and slipped their remaining shilling 
into her hand, saying, “ It’s all we have, so you must 
give it.” 

“ No,” replied Patience ; “ I have something besides : 
you must give that.” 

Jem looked at her, as if thinking she must be mis 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 


531 


taken ; but seeing her decided, he took the shilling, and 
put it himself into the plate, as he passed out. Patience 
followed slowly, and dropped her half-crown into the 
same plate ; then, as if in a moment, her heart seemed 
lightened, and her steps strengthened. Her husband 
was waiting for her outside the door, and she walked 
home by his side. 

The sky that Sabbath afternoon was beautiful before 
them, as they descended the hill. When they reached 
their peaceful cottage, the door stood partly open, and 
they heard the voice of Rose singing to their infant; the 
kettle was boiling on the wood fire, the tea was set 
ready on the round table, and all looked the picture of 
repose. 

Rose hastened back to the farm ; and Jem, with 
lighter heart and brighter face than he had had for 
many a day, sat down witj^ Patience to their cheerful 
tea. No cloud of troubled feeling hung over Patience : 
no ; her personal sacrifice was made to Ilim who gives 
a present as well as a future reward ; and Jem could 
scarcely believe the change for the better he saw in her. 
It seemed as if the lady’s piece of money, that gift of 
tenderness, true to the feeling which bestowed it, was 
not only to possess a power to soothe through years of 
trial, but, when at last parted from, was to yield more 
present comfort and peace even than when possessed ; 
while the endless future alone can make manifest tho 
34 


532 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


results of what is so given, as this treasured possession 
of Patience, in love, and faith, and prayer ! 

F rom that first Sabbath at church, Patience improved 
dayly in health. Their infant, little Peace by name, 
grew strong and merry when more with its mother in 
the open air ; and though Patience could not at once 
recover her strength and her look of health, yet the 
home of Jem again wore its cheerful aspect, and the 
voice of joy was again heard within it. 

When May had given place to June, the preparations 
at the Hall were completed. All that was the work of 
the builder’s art had been renewed, or fresh adorned ; 
only one room had been left unentered by the repair- 
er’s step. It was the room that had been his sister’s, 
which Herbert had made his own ; affection invested 
the faded adornments of that room with more attrac- 
tion than any power of%rt could have imparted. 
Around the mansion the stately trees and verdant 
slopes wore as fresh an aspect as when they first put 
on the emerald brightness of the spring. Tidings 
had arrived in the village that the squire had been 
married abroad ; and now the day was fixed for his 
return, with his bride and mother, to the Hall. 

The appointed day arrived, and the early stir of prep- 
aration was general. No gifts had been ordered by the 
squire to celebrate the event : well he knew that his 
presence — his heart and mind, his eye and voice — would 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 533 

be a gift more prized than any, by villagers whose 
affections had grown around him from his boyhood. 
But orders were given by him for all the park gates to 
be opened, that those who wished might receive him, on 
his return to reside among them, there, where he first 
had parted from them at his father’s side. 

None were slow to go forth to the welcome. All 
dressed in festal garments, with the look of expectant 
gladness, they waited and watched. The tenantry had 
gone forward, on horseback, a few miles. While Wil- 
liam, steward of the farms, mounted on Black Beauty, 
stood at the grand entrance gate. Four had been 
named as the hour, and now it struck from the great 
stable clock. Then the scattered groups stood up from 
the greensward ; and children took their parents’ hands, 
in questioning excitement. William rode, on Black 
Beauty, who chafed at his long holding in, once down 
the broad walks of the park, and shouted a request that 
all would stand off at the arrival ; then returned quickly 
to his post at the great entrance gate. 

Ringers had been stationed by William in the first 
village church where the squire had property, and as 
soon as the long line of tenantry, returning and escorting 
the squire, were seen from that village steeple, the bells 
were to strike up a peal. A watcher was set on the 
tower of the next village church, and as soon as he 
heard the signal of approach, the solitary bell in that 


534 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 

tower was to send on the tidings, over hill and valley, 
over the green waving corn and the yet unmown grass, 
to a watcher on the tower of their own village church ; 
then were their own bells to ring out the welcome heard 
from far. 

All hushed their breath to listen for the first distant 
sound, too impatient to wait for nearer tidings, trusting 
to cateh from their friendly hills an echo to the first joy- 
ous peal. And who could wonder? Had not he who 
now drew near made their sorrows and joys, their wel 
fare and happiness, his own ? not by general dispensa 
tions of kindness, but by that frank and personal inter 
course which binds the heart with the tie of devoted 
affection ; a tie far stronger, far higher, and deeper, than 
that of mere personal gratitude for favors received. Had 
they not seen his warm feeling gush forth, se5h his 
active sympathy spring to the surface at the sight or 
hearing of trouble or sorrow of theirs? Was not the 
quick glance of his boyhood’s eye, his generous utter- 
ance, familiar to many assembled there? Who would 
not come forth to receive in his manhood the boy who 
had toiled in the ditch over old Willy’s log; who had 
climbed the thatcher’s ladder to lay in an armful of 
straw, in the eager gladness of his heart at effacing the 
neglect of the poor man’s oppressor ? The whole village 
might have received gifts on some stately occasion, in 
some stately manner, by the boy provided with the 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 


535 


means for the large bestowment ; but it would not have 
bound the heart of the village to that boy like one free, 
spontaneous effort, such as Herbert’s had been, bearing 
witness to his self-forgetfulness in the poor man’s dis- 
tress. And was he not the brother of her who, to 
them, had seemed an angel upon earth ? When once 
aroused to a sense of their blessedness, had he not fol- 
lowed in her gentler steps with his manly power, and 
had not the light of her life shone reflected in him ? 
Then might the deep well-spring of feeling, that had 
followed her to heaven, break; forth again to welcome 
his return to his home ! True loyalty is happily a con- 
tagious emotion, and many a heart beat quicker, and 
many a cheek glowed with feeling that day, in those 
who did but estimate the event by the expectation of 
others. 

The servants had now gathered to the door ; the 
men, in their livery of dark blue and white, stood in two 
lines extending one on each side the steps ; while the 
maids stood assembled in the entrance hall. Again and 
again some eager listener said, “ I heard the bells strike 
up ; I am pretty sure I did l” 

But no, it could not have been, for their own vil- 
lage tower still stood silent. At length William, the 
farm steward, turned Black Beauty’s head round, and 
facing the people and the servants, waved his hat above 
his head ; then replacing it, turned instantly back again, 


536 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


standing sideways by the gate ; he had caught the sound 
of the distant peal ; breathlessly the people now listened, 
and in a few minutes more their own village chime 
struck full on the ear ; then the throng pressed side by 
side, as near as might be to the broad carriage sweep, 
while on pealed the bells ; till the sound of many tram- 
pling hoofs was heard along the road. Still on they rang, 
till full in sight came the traveling carriage, with its four 
horses and blue postillions; then the people raised a 
shout, and the tenantry who followed lifted their hats 
and joined the welcome cheers ; through the great gate 
the carriage dashed, and William held his hat above his 
head, scarcely able to restrain Black Beauty’s excited 
spirit; and his eye glanced up from his master’s face, to 
where young Mercy sat behind on the carriage ; the vil- 
lage maiden back from the foreign land, pale with her 
own deep feeling, and the sound of that thrilling wel- 
come. 

The carriage stopped at the Hall door, and the 
tenantry dismounted and held their horses in hand. 
The squire stepped from the carriage, and led his moth- 
er in to the care of her faithful servants ; then returning, 
handed out his lady, and waving his hand to the people, 
led her within. William riding up, dismounted, and 
slipping Black Beauty’s bridle over his arm, took down 
the orphan Mercy from the carriage with a brother’s 
softened welcome, for she wore mourning for the grand- 


THE LADY GERTRUDE 


537 


mother lost in her absence, who had filled the place of 
both parents to her, and her eyes were filled with the 
tears of mingled feelings. Then a servant brought a 
message to William from the Hall, and he instantly 
mounted Black Beauty again, and riding down the 
walks, shouted, “ The squire begs you will be seated on 
the grass.” 

Servants quickly appeared, bearing between them trays 
of cake, all prepared by the squire’s orders in readiness 
beforehand. Then rising, the people breathed, not with 
a shout, but in a low murmur, a blessing on the head 
they had seen from its childhood uncovered beneath 
their roofs, and among them ; a blessing on the squire’s 
lady ; and a blessing on his mother. 

The squire stood at an open window looking down 
upon them, and hearing the thrice-repeated blessing, 
and his lady at his side; and his heart filled with thank- 
fulness that his tenants and dependents were his friends. 
Then the squire turned away from the window, and the 
people took their refreshment all seated on the grass, till 
the squire came out, and his lady on his arm, and they 
stood on the first Hall step, and the people rose in 
silence, and he said in a voice not loud, but clear, a voice 
whose tones were all familiar, “God bless you, my 
friends, and enable us to retain your affection. We 
thank you for your welcome.” And then he came down 
with his lady, and he passed slowly among the people 


588 


MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


with his friendly greeting, and his lady at his side, and 
all the time the village bells rang out the same glad peal. 

The eye of the squire sought out Jem ; well he knew 
his heart would be among the first to welcome him 
there, but he could nowhere discover his figure. At last 
he saw him, with his dog close beside him, his infant on 
his arm, and Patience at his side, at the further edge of 
the assembly, so he made his way up to him. The dog 
knew the squire, and sprang forward to greet him, and 
leaping up licked his hand, and the squire caressed him 
as he passed on to Jem, and said, in his kind, cheerful 
tone, “Well, Jem, do you pretend to be the last to 
welcome home your friend V 1 and that beautiful lady 
stood beside the squire, and said with a smile, “ I know 
the name of Jem ! Is this your wife and child ?” 

When Patience heard her speak, she looked up at 
her face, then falling on her knee, she caught hold of 
that lady’s dress, and pressing it to her lips, looked up 
again into her face, exclaiming, “ 0, dearest lady !” It 
was the Lady Gertrude 1 

And, faint from long standing, and overcome with 
feeling, poor Patience fell back upon the arm of Jem, 
who laid her gently on the grass, and knelt beside her. 

The squire said, “ Bring water ! and fetch the game- 
keeper’s light cart to carry her home.” 

Jem looked up and said, “She has been ill for months, 
and was but just getting over it, only I persuaded her to 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 539 

o>me with me to-day ; but it’s been all over too much 
for her.” 

And the Lady Gertrude looked on the pale face of 
Patience, pale with her late long illness, but she saw no 
trace there of that early misery, that had left its im- 
pression so strongly on her heart; she did not know her 
to have been that child. Women had gathered round ; 
Mrs. Smith and Rose were by this time with Patience, 
and- the squire and his lady passed on ; but as they re- 
turned toward the Hall, the Lady Gertrude said to the 
squire, “They are still there; let us ask how Jem’s wife 
is now ;” so they stopped, and the little close-gathered 
circle opened, and the Lady Gertrude said, “ How is she 
now ?” Patience was still seated on the grass, leaning on 
the arm of Jem, but she had revived, and now seeing 
their lady again, she said, “ 0, Jem, she is not gone ! 
ask if I may speak to her ?” 

And the Lady Gertrude heard the words, and saw the 
flush suffuse the cheek of Patience, and kneeling on one 
knee upon the grass beside her, she laid her hand upon 
the clasped hands of Patience, and said, “ You are better 
now ; you will soon recover this.” 

But Patience, looking up, said, “ O, forgive me, dearest 

lady ! I was that poor child you comforted in ! it 

was you that put feeling into my froze-up heart ! and I 
thought I should never have seen you again, and then 
to see you stand there, it wholly overcame me.” 


540 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


Tears came to that lady’s eyes, and she said, “Are 
you indeed the same ? then I am come to live near you 
now, and as I saw you in sorrow, so I hope I shall often 
see you in joy ! You may be sure I shall soon come to 
your cottage.” 

Jem had heard all about the love of Patience for that 
heavenly child that had come to her in her misery, and 
he looked upon that beautiful lady kneeling there, with 
eyes of reverence and wonder; and tears were in the 
squire’s eyes as he stood there, but he did not speak a 
word; and Mrs. Smith, and Rose with little Peace in her 
arms, and the women standing round, lpoked on aston 
ished ; but the light cart drove up, and the squire r A 
turned with his lady to the Hall, and Patience wa: 
taken back to her home, and so her heart’s long desire 
was fulfilled, beyond all she had ever hoped or thought; 
and she quickly recovered strength ; and the voice of 
joy and health was heard within her dwelling. 

Wagons and carts carried home the rejoicing people; 
and those near at hand returned on foot. And now, the 
sun went down, and the long, soft shadows fell over lawn 
and wood. Mrs. Clifford stood at the window with her 
children, and gazed on the slopes where the welcoming 
throng had been, and said, “It was too much for me to 
look upon, but not too much to feel the deepest thank- 
fulness for !” and her son looked on her in answering 
tenderness. And then the squire asked his lady if she 


THE LADY GERTRUDE. 


641 


missed the mountains from the landscape that she had 
been used to from her childhood. And she replied, “ O, 
human hearts are better than the hills, and stronger, 
too, in their encircling power! I know not where on 
earth I could be so happy as here. And meeting, the 
first thing, with thut poor child, whom I have thought 
of in her sorrow through so many years, seems to me a 
bright earnest of good.” The sun went down, and the 
fervent feelings of that day reposed in the quiet of 
night’s restful hours. 

And now we must take leave of our ministering 
children, who have all outgrown their childhood ; to 
write of and for childhood being all that we promised 
from the beginning. We have only to ask the children 
who read this story, whether they also are ministering 
children. This story has been written to show, as in a 
picture, what ministering children are. There is no 
cffild upon earth who may not be a ministering child ; 
bemuse the Holy Spirit of God, even the blessed Com- 
forter himself, will come to every child of God who asks 
that blessed Spirit to teach him how to comfort others. 
Even the beloved Son of God, when he came down from 
heaven to earth, came to minister to those who were in 
need ; he himself tells us so. And God sends his holy 
angels down to earth to be ministering spirits here. The 
youngest child of God, who is able to understand any- 


542 MINISTERING CHILDREN. 


thing, can learn to be a ministering child ; therefore, all 
who pray to God as their heavenly Father, must try in 
every way they can to minister to others ; and then one 
day they will go where there is no want, and no sorrow, 
and no sin, but only fullness of joy and pleasures for ever- 
more, in their heavenly Father’s presence in glory ; and 
there they will see those whom they comforted and 

taught to know the love of God their Saviour upon 

( 

earth. “And so shall they ever be with the Lord.” 
“ And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes ; 
and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor 
crying, neither shall* there be any more pain ; for the 
former things will be passed away.” Rev. xxi, 4. 


THE END. 



4 




BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


200 Mulberry-9treet, New York. 


PLEASANT PATHWAYS; 

Or, Persuasives to Early Piety : containing Explanations and 

Illustrations of the Beauty, Safety, and Pleasantness of a Relig 

ious Life : being an Attempt to persuade Young People of both 

Sexes to seek Happiness in the Love and Service of Jesus Christ. 

By Daniel Wise, author of “ The Path of Life,” “ Young Man’s 

Counselor,” etc., etc. Two Illustrations. Wide 16mo. 

The works of this author have secured him the reputation of one of the 
most eloquent and fascinating religious writers of the day. As a writer 
for youth we know of no one whom we should regard as his equal. The 
book before us will be found more fascinating than a novel ; once com 
menced it will not be easy to lay it down. — Christian Guardian. 

One of the most beautiful works, in our estimation, ever published. Its 
contents are as sands of gold — peculiarly adapted to impart precious 
thoughts which shall tend to noble aspirations for a Christian life.- - 
Buffalo Advocate. 

Well calculated to exert a salutary influence. — Christian Intelligencer. 

Can scarcely be read without signal benefit, especially by the young. — 
Pittsburgh Christian Advocate. 

Remarkable for depth of reasoning and tenderness. It must, by the 
blessing of God, win many to Christ. Praise God for such works. — 
Bea uty of Holiness. 

It does not clothe piety in weeds or hang salvation in black. It combines 
the good, the beautiful, and the true. — Northwestern Christian Advocate. 

Will be read with lively interest by youth who are even uninterested in 
its purpose. The Christian parent can put it into the hands of his children 
with the assurance that it will prove a delight to them, while they cannot 
fail to learn its great lessons. — Christian Advocate. 

Admirably adapted to do good. — Vermont Christian Messenger. 

PALIS SY THE POTTER; 

Or, the Huguenot, Artist, and Martyr. A true Narrative. By 

C. L. Brightwell. Eighteen Illustrations. Wide lGmo. 

Bernard de Palissy is the most perfect model of the workman. It is by 
his example, rather than by his works, that he has exercised an influence 
upon civilization, and that'he has deserved a place to himself among the 
men who have ennobled humanity. Though he had remained unknown 
and listless, making tiles in his father’s pottery; though he had never 
purified, molded, or enameled his handful of clay; though his living 
groups, his crawling reptiles, his slimy snails, his slippery frogs, his lively, 
lizards, and his damp herbs and dripping mosses had never adorned those 
dishes, ewers, and salt-cellars — those quaint and elaborate ornaments of 
the tables and cupboards of the sixteenth century ; it is true nothing 
would nave been wanting to the art of Phidias or of Michael Angelo — to 
the porce'ain of Sevres, of China, of Florence, or Japan ; but we should 
not have had his life for the operative to admire and imitate. — Lamartine. 

THE RAINBOW SIDE: 

A Sequel to “ The Itinerant.” By Mrs. C. M. Edwakiis. Fou: 

Illustrations. Wide 16mo. 


800RS PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER, 

300 Mulberry-street, New York. 



Whedon’s Commentary. 

A Commentary of the Gospels of Matthew and Mark. 
Intended for Popular Use. By D. D. Whedon, D.D. 
12mo. 

The first volume of this work has been on sale for the past year and a large 
Dumber of volumes have been sold. It is a 12mo. of 422 closely printed 
pages, embracing a fine map of Palestine, and other valuable illustrations. 
It is the cheapest book for the price that we have issued in many years. 
The two volumes which are to follow will be announced iu due time. All 
the notices we have 6een, as well as the remarks we have heard, go to the 
effect that this book is a timely, able, and valuable addition to our literature. 

Dr. Whedon has furnished the people with the results of critical stud}’-, 
modern travels and Christian reflection, in brief and pithy comments on the 
difficult or obscure words and phrases in the first two evangelists, enlarging 
on occasional passages of importance. — Congregational Herald. 

It gives the results of patient study and the careful examination of the 
works of those who have preceded him in the same field, in few words well 
chosen. — Christ. Observer, Phila. 

Dr. Whedon is one of the clearest, strongest, and boldest writers in 
America. He addresses the intellect, not the passions; reason, not the feel- 
ings. The principal value of this commentary is found in exposition, while 
its real spiritual utility will depend much on the piety of the reader, and 
hence a boundless field is before him. Eeligious truths are presented in 
vivid distinctness ; the popular mind is instructed. — Richmond ChHst. A dv. 

The Pioneer Bishop ; 

Or, the Life and Times of Francis Asbury. By W. P. 
Strickland, D.D. 12mo. 

One of the most fascinating volumes of biography ever issued from oar 
press. — Quarterly Review. 

This is at once a charming volume and a marvelous record. — New York 
Commercial Advertiser. 

This book will be read, and will exert a beneficial influence wherever 
read. — Zion's Herald. 

The author has performed his duty well, and with a catholicity of spirit 
worthy of honor. — New York Intelligencer. 

No one can have a just view of the rise and settlement of the Methodist 
Episcopal Church in the United States without carefully perusing this book, 
~-Dr. Durbin. 


ROOKS PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER, 

200 Mulberry-street, IVew York. 


Moral and Religious Quotations 

From the Poets. Topically Arranged. Comprising 
choice Selections from six hundred Authors. Con/ 
piled by Rev. William Rice, A.M. 8vo. 


We have seen many dictionaries of quotations, but this surpasses them all 
in extent and system. The subjects are those that come before the preacher's 
mind, and he will open this book as he is preparing a sermon, and find happy 
lines to adorn and enrich his discourse, and astonish his hearers by his famil- 
iarity with the poets I It will alsd lead him to the study of poetry, and 
introduce him to authors whose acquaintance he would never have culti- 
vated, but for these brief and sententious extracts from their works. More 
than four thousand quotations are here made . — Neio York Observer. 

Pronouncing Bible. 

Large 8vo. 

We have lately issued the best Bible in print, a Pronouncing Bible, 
having these advantages : 1. The proper names are divided and accented, so 
that a child can pronounce them correctly. 2. Each book has a short in- 
troduction, showing just what every reader ought to know about it. 3. It 
has a much improved class of references. 4. It contains a map of Old Ca- 
naan and its surroundings, and one of Palestine, according to the latest dis- 
coveries. 

The method is more simple and easy than any other we have seen. The 
pronunciation marks are very judiciously confined to the proper names, 
leaving the remainder of the text unencumbered. The multitudes of Bible 
readers who stumble at the hard names of people and places may find a 
very satisfactory relief by using this edition. For family worship, or private 
devotional reading, this edition has strong recommendations. — Presbyterian. 

In this Bible the proper names are divided into syllables and accented, so 
that it is hardly possible to mispronounce them. The “ Introductions ” are 
brief, but contain a large amount of oseful and necessary information. The 
“references,” as far as we have had time to test them, are decidedly the 
most accurate we have met with. It is one of the most beautiful and com- 
plete Bibles in the world, and it will be an acquisition to the study, the 
family, the Bible class and the pulpit . — Evangelical Witness. 


BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER, 

200 Mulberry-street, IVew York. 


Rudiments of Public Speaking 

And Debate ; Or, Hints on tbe Application of Logic. 
By J. G. Holyoake, author of “ Mathematics no 
Mystery,” “Logic of Facts,” etc. With an Essay on 
Sacred Eloquence by Henky Kogeks. Revised, with 
Notes, by Key. L. D. Bakkows. 12mo. 

“Speech is the body, thought the soul, and suitable action the lips of eloquence.” 

He has oratory who ravishes his hearers, while he forgets himself. — Lavater. 
Eloquence is vehement simplicity. — Cecil. 

The object of this book is to assist public speakers in perfecting them- 
selves in the art of speaking effectively. Too many exhaust themselves 
on th e^matter of their discourse, and utterly fail in the manner of it. The 
tendency of this book is to correct this error, and secure a better and more 
impressive style. Please read the following notices of it: 

We cordially commend Dr. Barrows’s volume to all ministers, young 
and old, and in fact to public speakers of all classes. It is full of marrow 
and fatness. — Western Advocate. 

A close study of it will save the young public speaker from many 
blunders which, if uncorrected, will impair his usefulness and hinder his suc- 
cess. — Northern Advocate. 

Our preachers will do well to send for it. A clergyman of great intel- 
lectual power, though being favored with little success, when asked how 
much of a sermon was due to the manner in which it was delivered, answered, 
*' Three fourths.” — Christian Advocate and Journal. 

There is nothing dry or dull in the entire book. It is full of most valu- 
able suggestions, so presented as to be remembered. — Congregational 
Herald. 

The Christian Maiden. 

Memorials of Eliza Hessel. By Joshua Pp.iestley. 
Slightly abridged from the second London edition. 
With a Portrait and Vignette. 12mo. 

Much of the religious biography of the day is both commonplace and 
Insipid. There are, however, many choice exceptions, and among such we 
class the interesting memoir before us. Miss Hessel was a young lady who 
cultivated her mind to the utmost, and diffused a cheering influence in the 
circle in which she moved. Her biography is replete with illustrations of 
the deep Christian experience, and varied and extensive reading. We cord- 
ially commend this little book to Christian young women, as well calculated 
t\> improve the understanding and purify the heart.— Christian Guardian, 









V * ' ^ A' r V 

^ : 



>!« °r 

N\N:. 3k s <<> .Tv ** ST" ■ • --- , > 


cfs> 

O /Tv 

'OO' * * 

-w V *.t: ■.*''/•' .../vn* 1 /' 

t <Y * s C* S' 

^ ^ r- 

““ « <? 


V % '■ * 0 A ^ 

,^v - :; - V "© A. c^ X « 

v - 'sVw/ £ / 


</> A v ’ 
t/> \v 



* . „ 

^ > V v A. ^ ' 

„ * CL ■ '> <- < ^ v ' V rv 

#*sS" '*%*"" <?+"*> %'"'\**\ 

a > ^ 4 ; ^ * 


,. N .0 
1 x 



o5 ^ *" 

C^sP v &A V. <* -^ y ,_ ^ ~ _ .vjs, . 

* c. c*> ^ ^ o 'b 'j 

0 v s * > V^A, ° S 

y *Wv» % / * •- ^ -< r 

v x - ?y‘l£V ''/A 2-. * * z Cf ^EV. ^ 

'• (l ^ r ° V ^ v A. ° vlC\F * .-v "A 

<" V * * s s A 


Ar 

as 


0 * Jk 


0 V c oS 0 <o 

v- *> ^iv, r rv 



r 

v^ ^ J- 

, ,> >. ^Ill* , 

, . , , ty ~C> V O. * * 0 /• ^ A 0 , 

<** *'<Sfe'* V # .* .\VA % ^ * 

.b ., «- v \v „ AvzvA c v 


. ' « > r~. y * \ 

V* *°* „* "o N o^ ^ 

/ C‘ v x 



A" ,V> 


r> AV 

■P 



% *? V- * 

O ^ . i <0 

« l 1 * * O. : cr < 0 " c * , ^ 

*1 \j + A r 

vP 1 A> 0 N 

* . v ' 'P.- * 


*P A\^‘ 

(/^ l\ ' « 




\ 



J 


- J> 'V » 

> ^ ^ 

. o N c , V£> ^ * S \^ X « v 1 8 « 0 * •* ^ O^ 1 v 0 N C ^ 



\> * 



</* 

c$ ^ 

' 3 , <«. X* ^ 0 N 0 <- ■' » 

’ '*% °o 



s s 4 A C> I : 


•X V 

o cr 



° ^ S "\^-C 0 <r , — * 

_■>* .# % ‘..'‘ A 0 ,.., ^ *»-<’ M 

■° N V> *. 1 * 0 , > c\\^ ^ C> V < 

*••- ^ *,?■ /.l/'v,. ; ”%>** “ =it#a5 ' • 

V /"V. “*. *v>v .♦»' ^*»a 


cT' ^ 


S << 


'K* * 




* ,^ V 
£ ^ 






